She said, with laughter tender and sweet: ‘I have not yet, war-weary king, Been spoken of with any one; For love of Oisin foam-wet feet Have borne me where the tempests blind Your mortal shores till time is done!’ ‘How comes it, princess, that your mind Among undying people has run On this young man, Oisin, my son?’ ‘I loved no man, though kings besought And many a man of lofty name, Until the Danaan poets came, Bringing me honeyed, wandering thought Of noble Oisin and his fame, Of battles broken by his hands, Of stories builded by his words That are like coloured Asian birds At evening in their rainless lands.’ O Patric, by your brazen bell, There was no limb of mine but fell Into a desperate gulph of love! ‘You only will I wed,’ I cried, ‘And I will make a thousand songs, And set your name all names above, And captives bound with leathern thongs Shall kneel and praise you, one by one, At evening in my western dun.’ ‘O Oisin, mount by me and ride To shores by the wash of the tremulous tide, Where men have heaped no burial mounds, And the days pass by like a wayward tune, Where broken faith has never been known, And the blushes of first love never have flown; And there I will give you a hundred hounds; No mightier creatures bay at the moon; And a hundred robes of murmuring silk, And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep Whose long wool whiter than sea froth flows, And a hundred spears and a hundred bows, And oil and wine and honey and milk, And always never-anxious sleep; While a hundred youths, mighty of limb, But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife, And a hundred maidens, merry as birds, Who when they dance to a fitful measure Have a speed like the speed of the salmon herds, Shall follow your horn and obey your whim, And you shall know the Danaan leisure: And Niamh be with you for a wife.’ Then she sighed gently, ‘It grows late, Music and love and sleep await, Where I would be when the white moon climbs, The red sun falls, and the world grows dim.’ And then I mounted and she bound me With her triumphing arms around me, And whispering to herself enwound me; But when the horse had felt my weight, He shook himself and neighed three times: Caolte, Conan, and Finn came near, And wept, and raised their lamenting hands, And bid me stay, with many a tear; But we rode out from the human lands.