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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Nay, I am for moving a step at a time," said I. "I am a trader, and want one venture well done before I begin on another, I shall be content if we safely cross these mountains on which we are now perched." Ringan shook his head. "That was never the way of the Highlands, 'Better a bone on the far-away hills than a fat sheep in the meadows, says the Gael.
Abundant river, abundant in water! Fish-abounding lake! It was what Amargin the Druid sang, when the Gael first came into Ireland. Here is the story of their coming: * The stories told in this and the following lecture, and the translations of Irish poems, etc., are taken from Mr.
Joan spoke, "You mean I'm awful homely, Mr. Gael?" The question set him to laughing outrageously. Joan's pride was stung. "You've no right to laugh at me," she said. "I'd not be carin' what you think." And she left him, moving like an angry stag, head high, light-stepping. He went back to his work, not at all in regret at her pique and still amused by the utter femininity of her simple question.
Great was the deed that was performed that day at the ford by the two heroes, the two warriors, the two champions of western lands, the two gift-bestowing hands of the northwest of the world, the two beloved pillars of the valor of the Gael, the two keys of the bravery of the Gael, brought to fight from afar through the schemes of Meave the queen.
"Do you know who those riders are, sons of Lir?" said Fionnuala. "We do not," they said; "but it is likely they might be some troop of the Sons of the Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan." They moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they were able to hold talk together.
Venerable Old Gentleman Surnames in Wales Russia and Britain Church of England Yriarte The Eagle and his Young Poets of the Gael The Oxonian Master Salisburie.
A vital gash with a claymore confers a bloodier but a more comely and natural end. Thus the Gael abhors the very roads that lead to a plague-struck dwelling. If plagues do not kill, they will mar yes, even against the three charms of Island! and that, too, makes heavier their terror, for a man mutilated even by so little as the loss of a hand is an object of pity to every hale member of his clan.
With prodigal extravagance he tore up another whole sheet of foolscap and began again. "The Passing of the Gael Ireland's Crowded Madhouses." He purred a little over that title and then began the article itself. What he wanted to say was clear in his mind. He had been three weeks in Dunailin and he had spent more time over lunatics than anything else.
Are you a judge of this?" said our smith, producing from a chest the mail shirt on which he had been lately employed. The Gael handled it with a degree of admiration which had something of envy in it. He looked curiously at every part of its texture, and at length declared it the very best piece of armour that he had ever seen.
The following verses convey but little idea of the feelings with which, so sung and accompanied, they were heard by Waverley: There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land; It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand!
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