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Updated: June 3, 2025
"I've heard him do better." The bird cast him a murderous glance, and Shamus, who was a singer himself, felt sore at heart that a good song should receive so little praise. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, which he had found a good practice when dealing with kings.
"Sorry was I to hear the words of the King when you sang so sweetly before him," replied Shamus. "Little he knows of songs," retorted the bird, "and I'm thinking I'll go where I'll be appreciated." "Then come with me," said Shamus. "There are kings and kings, and some are better than others."
On and on he walked until he came to a stream. In the middle was a stone. Around it foamed the white water. Onto the stone leapt Shamus, still playing. The Queen stood on the bank and wrung her hands, and then with a shriek she threw herself in and was swept away in the white water. Shamus leapt back to the bank where stood the King much pleased.
Here one house, of all that stood upon the bridge, began to be opened; it was a public-house, and, by a sidelong glance as he passed, Shamus thought that, in the person of a red-cheeked, red-nosed, sunken-eyed, elderly man, who took down the window-shutters, he recognised the proprietor. This person looked at Shamus, in return, with peculiar scrutiny.
But if Shamus occasionally drew a bitter and almost savage gratification from the downfall of his inhuman persecutor, no recurrence to the past could alleviate the misery of his present situation. He passed under one of the capacious open arches of the old abbey, and then entered his squalid shed reared against its wall, his heart as shattered and as trodden down as the ruins around him.
"Will you come with me, Shamus?" said she. "Alas," said he, "I am now too old." "Your songs are young," said she, "and you are young again in heart. Come with me, where you may be young forever and play glad songs." Shamus mounted up behind on the beautiful horse, away they flew, and that was the last ever seen of him upon earth.
"An otter, he means, and I believe he is right. Stay, no! Did you not hear it then, Shamus? It was a woman's voice." "Shamus is shick in his ears ever since Christmas." "Shamus will go after Desmond if he lies," said Amyas. "Ancient, we had better send a few men to see what it is; there may be a poor soul taken by robbers, or perhaps starving to death, as I have seen many a one."
He silently lighted a fire of withered twigs on his ready-furnished hearthstone; put to roast among their embers a few potatoes which he had begged during the day; divided them between her and her crying children; and, as the moon rising high in the heavens warned him that night asserted her full empire over the departed day, Shamus sank down upon the couch from which his father's mortal remains had lately been borne, supperless himself, and dinnerless, too, but not hungry; at least not conscious or recollecting that he was.
You must know that a very long time ago, when many kings ruled Ireland, there lived a boy named Shamus. He was not, however, the son or grandson of a king, which was in itself a distinction. In fact, his father had a bit of a farm and a few sheep, and it was his intention that Shamus, likewise, should be a farmer and a raiser of sheep. Shamus, however, had other ideas.
Shamus took the little dog under his arm and carried him back to the King of the Little People. "So far so good," said the King. "Next, bring me the magic blackbird who sings so sweetly for the King of the Forest." Off went Shamus again, this time to the forest, where he found the King sitting under an oak tree. "What do you here?" said the King, and Shamus told him.
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