ne had made a spear-haft, he
hurled it out at the spear-head in the lintel; and it was good
hurling, not to be complained of: the end of the haft stuck in
the socket, and stuck firm. And as fast as those two men did
those two things, Creidne had his rivets ready, and threw them at
the spear-head; and so excellent his throwing, and the nicety of
his aim, no rivet would do less than enter the holes in the
socket, and drive on into the wood of the shaft;--and that way
there was no cast of a spear by the Gods at the hellions, but
there was a new spear in the smithy ready to replace it. Then
the Fomoroh sent a spy into the camp of the Gods, who achieved
killing Goibniu with one of the latter's own spears; and by
reason of that it was going ill with the Gods the next day in the
battle. And it was going worse with them because of Balor of the
Mighty Blows, and he taking the field at last for the Fomorians,--

"Balor as old as a forest, his mighty head helpless sunk,
And an army of men holding open his weary and death-dealing eye,"

--for wherever his glances fell, there death came. They fell on
Nuada of the Silver Hand, and he died,--albeit it is well known
that he was alive, and worshiped in Britain in Roman times, for a
temple to him has been found near the River Severn.--Then came
Lugh to avenge Nuada, and a bolt from his sling tore like the
dawn ray, like the meteor of heaven, over Moytura plain, and took
the evil eye of Balor in the midst, and drove it into his head;
and then the Fomorians were routed. And this, in truth, like
Camlan and Kurukshetra, is the battle that is forever being
fought: Balor comes death-dealing still; and still the sling of
Lugh Lamfada is driving its meteor shafts through heaven and
defeating him.

As for the defeat of the Gods by the Milesians, and their
retirement into the mountains,--that too is actual history told
under a thinnish veil of symbolism: the Fifth Race having been
started, the Sons of Wisdom, its first Gods and Adept Kings, who
had sown the seeds of all bright things that were to be in its
future civilizations, withdrew into the Unseen.

All this and much more,--the whole Mythological Cycle,--
represents what came over into Irish literature from ancient
manvantaric periods, and the compression of the records of
millions of years. A century seems a very long time while it is
passing; but at two or three millenniums ago, no longer than a
few autumns and wint