him; for the
Bocanahs and Bananahs and the Geniti Gluidi, the wild people of the
glens, and the demons of the air, roared around him, when first the
great warrior of the Gael, his battle-arms in his hands, stood
equipped for war in his chariot before all the warriors of his tribe,
the kings of the Clanna Rury and the people of the Emain Macha. Then
too there sounded from the Tec Brac the boom of shields and the
clashing of swords and the cries and shouting of the Tuatha Dee
Danann, who dwelt there perpetually; and Lu the long-handed, the
slayer of Balor, the destroyer of the Fornoroh, the immortal, the
invisible, the maker and the decorator of the firmament, whose hound
was the sun, and whose son the viewless wind, thundered from heaven
and bent his sling five-hued against the clouds; and the son of the
illimitable Lir in his mantle blue and green, foam-fringed, passed
through the assembly with a roar of far-off innumerable waters, and
the Mor Reega stood in the midst with a foot on either side of the
plain, and shouted with the shout of a host, so that the Ultonians
fell down like reaped grass with their faces to the earth, on account
of the presence of the Mor Reega and on account of the omens and great
signs.

* * * * *

The following poems from the ancient Erse are taken from the 'Lyra
Celtica: an Anthology of Representative Celtic Poetry,' edited by
Elizabeth A. Sharp.

THE MYSTERY OF AMERGIN

I am the wind which breathes upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the murmur of the billows,
I am the ox of the seven combats,
I am the vulture upon the rocks,
I am a beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants,
I am a wild boar in valor,
I am a salmon in the water,
I am a lake in the plain,
I am a word of science,
I am the point of the lance of battle,
I am the God who creates in the head [_i. e._ of man] the fire
[_i. e._ the thought].
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountain [if not
I]?
Who announces the ages of the moon [if not I]?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun [if not I]?

THE SONG OF FIONN

May-day, delightful time! How beautiful the color!
The blackbirds sing their full lay. Would that Laeg were here!
The cuckoos sing in constant strains. How welcome is the noble
Brilliance of the seasons ever! On the margin of the branching woods
The summ