anquet-hall, the clang of meeting drinking-horns, and songs of
battle. When the last strain ended, from the mighty host a great shout
went up, loud as the roar of winter billows breaking in the hollows of
the shore; and men knew not whom to declare the victor, the chief
bard of Erin or the Skald of the northern lands.

In the height of the debate the cry arose that another competitor had
ascended the mound, and there standing in view of all was Fergus, the
huntsman's son. All eyes were fastened upon him, but no one looked so
eagerly as the princess.

He touched his harp with gentle fingers, and a sound low and soft as a
faint summer breeze passing through forest trees stole out, and then
was heard the rustle of birds through the branches, and the dreamy
murmur of waters lost in deepest woods, and all the fairy echoes
whispering when the leaves are motionless in the noonday heat; then
followed notes cool and soft as the drip of summer showers on the
parched grass, and then the song of the blackbird, sounding as clearly
as it sounds in long silent spaces of the evening, and then in one
sweet jocund burst the multitudinous voices that hail the breaking of
the morn. And the lark, singing and soaring above the minstrel, sank
mute and motionless upon his shoulder, and from all the leafy woods
the birds came thronging out and formed a fluttering canopy above his
head.

When the bard ceased playing no shout arose from the mighty multitude,
for the strains of his harp, long after its chords were stilled, held
their hearts spell-bound.

And when he had passed away from the mound of contest all knew there
was no need to declare the victor.[12] And all were glad the comely
Fenian champion had maintained the supremacy of the bards of Erin. But
there was one heart sad, the heart of the princess; and now she wished
more than ever that she had never made her hateful vow.

Other contests went on, but Fergus took no interest in them; and once
more he stole away to the forest glade. His heart was sorrowful, for
he thought of the great race of the morning, and he knew that he could
not hope to compete with the rider of the white steed of the plains.
And as he lay beneath the spreading branches during the whole night
long his thoughts were not of the victory he had won, but of the
princess, who was as far away from him as ever. He passed the night
without sleep, and when the morning came he rose and walked aimlessly
through the woods.