His old age, when sudden feebleness overwhelms him, is made by the bardic clan as miserable, as desolate as his youth was joyous.
Again, Finn lives to be an old man, but the immortal was in him, and either he has been born again in several re-incarnations (for the Irish held from time to time the doctrine of the transmigration of souls), or he sleeps, like Barbarossa, in a secret cavern, with all his men around him, and beside him the mighty horn of the Fianna, which, when the day of fate and freedom comes, will awaken with three loud blasts the heroes and send them forth to victory.

Old as she is, Ireland does not grow old, for she has never reached her maturity.

Her full existence is before her, not behind her.

And when she reaches it her ancientry and all its tales will be dearer to her than they have been in the past.

They will be an inspiring national asset.