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Updated: June 3, 2025
Did you ever hear that the sisther you kilt left a bit of a gorsoon behind her, that one day or other might overhear you? Ay," he continued, keeping down the struggling man, "IT IS poor Shamus Dempsey that's kneeling by you; ay, and that has more to tell you.
After many days and adventures too numerous to relate, he came to the house of the King of the Gnomes, which was inside a mountain and as thickset with jewels as the grass with dew on a fine morning. Shamus told his desire and the King of the Gnomes ordered the dog to be brought.
The King said never a word, but his glance said plain as day, "Isn't it as I said?" So Shamus took his harp and began to play his song of running water. At first he could not make himself heard, but after a while, as he played, the Queen's talk came slower and slower, and softer and softer, and by and by she was speechless. Then Shamus began to walk slowly away, and the Queen followed.
When all were asleep that night, Shamus slipped from his bed and went into the woods where he began to play softly his song of the wind in the trees. Louder and louder he played, and sure enough, the blackbird soon came and perched on a tree near by. When he had done, the bird said, "It is a pleasure to hear a song well-played."
The tea was all that could be asked for in variety and quantity, and it was quite evident when Hortense and Andy had finished with it that if they ate even a mouthful of supper later, they would be taking a grave risk of bad dreams and castor oil. Fergus lighted his pipe, drew his chair a little closer to the hearth, and related the story of Shamus the Harper.
More-be-token, tell her that poor Shamus quits her in her throuble wid more love from the heart out than he had for her the first day we came together; and I'll come back to her at any rate, sooner or later, richer or poorer, or as bare as I went; and maybe not so bare either. But God only knows.
'An' says he, "Tim Rooney, you're there, my boy, Kep' down in the bog-hole wid the force iv suction, An' tisn't myself you'll throuble or annoy, To the best o' my opinion, to the resurrection." 'With that, on he walks to the town o' Drumgoole, And sot by the fire in an inn was there; And sittin' beside him, says the ghost "You fool! 'Tis myself's beside ye, Shamus, everywhere."
A year went by, and the Black Officer was seeking through the country for the twelve best men he could find to accompany him to some deer-hunt or the like. And he asked Shamus, but he pretended he was ill Oh, he was very unwell! and he could not go, but stayed in bed at home. So the Black Officer chose another man, and he and the twelve set out the thirteen of them.
His fingers fumbled with the strings, he could find no voice to sing further, and great tears rolled down his face and splashed on the ground. "Stop it!" commanded the King of the Little People, drawing his feet up under him for fear of the damp. "Why is it you weep such wet tears?" So Shamus told him the cause of his sorrow while the King plucked at his beard and looked wise.
Called to the Bar in 1839, he did not practise, and was first brought into notice by two ballads, Phaudrig Croohoore and Shamus O'Brien, which had extraordinary popularity. They are generally distinguished by able construction, ingenuity of plot, and power in the presentation of the mysterious and supernatural. Among Irish novelists he is generally ranked next to Lever.
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