ccour and
help in the stranger. There is sorrow in this chamber of festivity. If
anyone who is dear to thee and thy people happens to be dead, I can do
nothing. But I say it, and it is not a vain boast, that even if a person
is at the point of death, I can restore him to life and health, for
there are marvellous powers of life-giving in my two hands."

Conn the Hundred-Fighter answered, "Our grief is not such as you
suppose; and why should I not tell a cause of shame, which is known far
and wide? This, then, is the reason of our being together, and the gloom
which is over us. There is a mighty enchanter whose dwelling is in the
haunted mountains of Slieve Gullion in the north. His name is Allen, son
of Midna, and his enmity to me is as great as his power. Once every
year, at this season, it is his pleasure to burn Tara. Descending out of
his wizard haunts, he standeth over against the city and shoots balls of
fire out of his mouth against it, till it is consumed. Then he goes away
mocking and triumphant. This annual building of Tara, only to be
annually consumed, is a shame to me, and till this enchanter declared
war against me, I have lived without reproach."

"But," said Finn, "how is it that thy young warriors, valiant and swift,
do not repel him, or kill him?"

"Alas!" said Conn, "all our valour is in vain against this man. Our
hosts encompass Tara on all sides, keeping watch and ward when the fatal
night comes. Then the son of Midna plays on his Druidic instrument of
music, on his magic pipe and his magic lyre, and as the fairy music
falls on our ears, our eyelids grow heavy, and soon all subside upon the
grass in deep slumber. So comes this man against the city and shoots his
fire-balls against it, and utterly consumes it. Nine years he has burnt
Tara in that manner, and this is the tenth. At midnight to-night he will
come and do the same. Last year (though it was a shame to me that I, who
am the high King over all Ireland, should not be able myself to defend
Tara) I summoned Gaul mac Morna and all the Fians to my assistance. They
came, but the pipe and lyre of the son of Midna prevailed over them too,
so that Tara was burned as at other times. Nor have we any reason to
believe that the son of Midna will not burn the city again to-night, as
he did last year. All the women and children have been sent out of Tara
this day. We are only men of war here, waiting for the time. That, O
noble youth, is why we are sad. T