The recovery of the “Tain” was the subject of a number of legends which Sir S. Ferguson, in his “Lays of the Western Gael,” has combined in a poem of so much power, so much insight into the spirit of Gaelic myth, that I venture to reproduce much of it here in telling this singular and beautiful story. It is said that after the loss of the “Tain” Sanchan Torpest, chief bard of Ireland, was once taunted at a feast by the High King Guary on his inability to recite the most famous and splendid of Gaelic poems. This touched the bard to the quick, and he resolved to recover the lost treasure. Far and wide through Erin and through Alba he searched for traces of the lay, but could only recover scattered fragments. He would have conjured up by magic arts the spirit of Fergus to teach it to him, even at the cost of his own life—for such, it seems, would have been the price demanded for the intervention and help of the dead—but the place of Fergus’s grave, where the spells must be said, could not be discovered. At last Sanchan sent his son Murgen with his younger brother Eimena to journey to Italy and endeavour to discover there the fate of the staff-book. The brothers set off on their journey. “Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway travell’d forth the twain, Till with many days’ wayfaring Murgen fainted by Loch Ein: ‘Dear my brother, thou art weary: I for present aid am flown: Thou for my returning tarry here beside this Standing Stone.’ “Shone the sunset red and solemn: Murgen,where he leant,observed Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of Ogham carved. ‘’Tis, belike, a burial pillar,’ said he, ‘and these shallow lines Hold some warrior’s name of valour, could I rightly spell the signs.’ “Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the sound of each; Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs took form of speech; And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part a-thrill with fear, Murgen read the legend plainly, ‘FERGUS SON OF ROY IS HERE.’ ” Murgen then, though he knew the penalty, appealed to Fergus to pity a son’s distress, and vowed, for the sake of the recovery of the “Tain,” to give his life, and abandon his kin and friends and the maiden he loves, so that his father might no more be shamed. But Fergus gave no sign, and Murgen tried another plea: “Still he stirs not. Love of women thou regard’st not, Fergus, now: Love of children, instincts human, care for these no more hast thou: Wider comprehension, deeper insights to the dead belong:— Since for Love thou wak’st not, Sleeper, yet awake for sake of Song. “ ‘Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing life’s discordant tale, Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the Poem to the Gael; Now they’ve lost their noblest measure, and in dark days hard at hand, Song shall be the only treasure left them in their native land.’