And the angels answered, "Holy Clerk, these old fighting men do not remember more than a third of their tales by reason of the forgetfulness of age, but whatever they tell write it down on the boards of the poets and in the words of the poets, for it will be a diversion to the companies and the high people of the latter times to listen to them."[8] So spoke the angels, and Patrick did as he bade them, and the stories are in the world to this day.
[8] This is quoted with a few omissions, from Lady Gregory's delightful version, in her _Book of Saints and Wonders_, of an episode in _The Colloquy of the Ancients_ (Silva Gadelica).
STOPFORD A.BROOKE ST PATRICK'S DAY, 1910 COIS NA TEINEADH (_By the Fireside._) Where glows the Irish hearth with peat There lives a subtle spell-- The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, The moorland odours, tell Of long roads running through a red Untamed unfurrowed land, With curlews keening overhead, And streams on either hand; Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge, And black bog-pools below; While dry stone wall or ragged hedge Leads on, to meet the glow From cottage doors, that lure us in From rainy Western skies, To seek the friendly warmth within, The simple talk and wise; Or tales of magic, love and arms From days when princes met To listen to the lay that charms The Connacht peasant yet.
There Honour shines through passions dire, There beauty blends with mirth-- Wild hearts, ye never did aspire Wholly for things of earth! Cold, cold this thousand years--yet still On many a time-stained page Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, Burn on from age to age.
And still around the fires of peat Live on the ancient days; There still do living lips repeat The old and deathless lays.
And when the wavering wreaths ascend, Blue in the evening air, The soul of Ireland seems to bend Above her children there.
BARDIC ROMANCES CHAPTER I The Story of the Children of Lir Long ago there dwelt in Ireland the race called by the name of De Danaan, or People of the Goddess Dana.

They were a folk who delighted in beauty and gaiety, and in fighting and feasting, and loved to go gloriously apparelled, and to have their weapons and household vessels adorned with jewels and gold.

They were also skilled in magic arts, and their harpers could make music so enchanting that a man who heard it would fight, or love, or sleep, or forget all earthly things, as they who touched the strings might will him to do.

In later times the Danaans had to dispute the sovranty of Ireland with another race, the Children of Miled, whom men call the Milesians, and after much fighting they were vanquished.

Then, by their sorceries and enchantments, when they could not prevail against the invaders, they made themselves invisible, and they have dwelt ever since in the Fairy Mounds and raths of Ireland, where their shining palaces are hidden from mortal eyes.