Translation and notes (Google eBook)

Front Cover
Standish Hayes O'Grady
Williams and Norgate, 1892 - English literature
0 Reviews
  

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 106 - Were but the brown leaf, which the wood sheds from it, gold, were but the white billow silver, Finn would have given it all away.
Page 102 - Then must nine warriors, having nine spears, with a ten furrows width betwixt them and him, assail him and in concert let fly at him. If past that guard of his he were hurt then, he was not received into Fianship. Not a man of them was taken till his hair had been interwoven into braids on him and he started at a run through Ireland's woods; while they, seeking to wound him, followed in his wake, there having been between him and them but one forest bough by way of interval at first. Should he be...
Page 102 - ... through Ireland's woods ; while they, seeking to wound him, followed in his wake, there having been between him and them but one forest bough by way of interval at first. Should he be overtaken, he was wounded and not received into the Fianna after. If his weapons had quivered in his hand, he was not taken. Should a branch in the wood have disturbed anything of his hair out of its braiding, neither was he taken. If he had cracked a dry stick under his foot [as he ran] he was not- accepted. Unless...
Page xxi - History of Ireland, published in 1633. " In some corners of the land they used a damnable superstition, leaving the right armes of their infants, males, unchristened, (as they termed it,) to the end it might give a more ungracious and deadly blow.
Page 280 - He cuts, he flays the foot, him that would advance he forcibly drags backward. Fiercest heat-giver of all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt; By partiality for him the head is set on aching, and by his acrid embers the eye is made sore. Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight Undoubtedly burn at thy discretion both the alder and white-thorn. Holly, burn it green; holly, burn it dry; Of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly.
Page 84 - On the morrow the king rose and went to the place where the clergy were : " ill have ye done," he said, " to undo my kingdom for that I maintained the righteous cause. At all events," he went on, " be thy diocese the first one that is ruined in Ireland and, Ruadhan, may thy monks desert thee!
Page 111 - Between Scotland and Pictland. On the first day of the Troganmonth (which is now called Lugnasad ie, Lammastide) we, to the number of the three battalions of the fian used to repair thither and there have our fill of hunting until such time as from the treetops the cuckoo would call in Ireland. More melodious than all music whatsoever it was to give ear to the voices of the birds as they rose from the billows and from the island's coast-line; thrice fifty separate flocks there were that encircled...
Page 392 - the perfume of that region's fragrant crimsoned branches being by way of meat and satisfying aliment all-sufficient for them." They find an orchard of red-laden apples, leafy oaks, yellow hazels, purple berries bigger than a man's head. On the berries feed beautiful birds: "As they fed they warbled music and minstrelsy that was melodious and superlative, to which patients of every kind and the repeatedly wounded would have fallen asleep...
Page 110 - With equal emphasis, and concordantly, the angels answered him, "Holy cleric, no more than a third part of their stories do those ancient warriors tell, by reason of forgetfulness and lack of memory; but by thee be it written on tables of poets, and in learned men's words; for to the companies and nobles of the later time to give ear to these stories will be a pastime.
Page 124 - A woeful note, and O a woeful note, is that which the thrush in Drumqueen emits! but not more cheerful is the wail that the blackbird makes in Letterlee. A woeful sound, and O a woeful sound, is that the deer utters in Drumdaleish ! Dead lies the doe of Druim Silenn: the mighty stag bells after her. Sore suffering to me, and O suffering sore, is the hero's death his death, that used to lie with me!

Bibliographic information