" When my seven battalions gather on the plain, And hold aloft the standards of war, And the dry cold wind whistles through the silk,- That to me is sweetest music !

" When the drinking-hall is furnished in Almuin, And the pages hand the carved cups to the chiefs, And the musicians touch the wires with their fingers, And the drained cups ring on the hard polished table,- Sweet to my ears is that music !

" Sweet is the scream of the sea-gull and heron, And the waves resounding on the Fair Strand (Ventry) ; Sweet is the song of the three sons of Meardha, Mac Luacha's whistle, the Dord1 of Fear-Scara, The cuckoo's note in early summer, And the echo of loud laughter in the wood."

The next tale may be considered the latest that had reference to the Fianna.