e of my poem," said Brian, son of Turenn.

"I would praise your poem more," said the King, "if there were not so
much about my pigskin in it. Little sense have you, O man of poetry,
to make that request of me, for not to all the poets, scholars, and
lords of the world would I give that skin of my own free will. But
what I will do is this--I will give the full of that skin of red gold
thrice over in reward for your poem."

"Thanks be to you," said Brian, "for that. I knew that I asked too
much, but I knew also thou wouldst redeem the skin amply and
generously. And now let the gold be duly measured out in it, for
greedy am I, and I will not abate an ounce of it."

The servants of the King were then sent with Brian and his brothers to
the King's treasure-chamber to measure out the gold. As they did so,
Brian suddenly snatched the skin from the hands of him who held it,
and swiftly wrapped it round his body. Then the three brothers drew
sword and made for the door, and a great fight arose in the King's
palace. But they hewed and thrust manfully on every side of them, and
though sorely wounded they fought their way through and escaped to
the shore, and drove their boat out to sea, when the skin of the magic
pig quickly made them whole and sound again. And thus the second quest
of the Sons of Turenn had its end.

"Let us now," said Brian, "go to seek the spear of the King of
Persia."

"In what manner of guise shall we go before the King of Persia?" said
his brothers.

"As we did before the King of Greece," said Brian.

"That guise served us well with the King of Greece," replied they;
"nevertheless, O Brian, this business of professing to be poets, when
we are but swordsmen, is painful to us."

However, they dressed their hair in the manner of poets and went up
boldly to the palace of King Peisear of Persia, saying, as before,
that they were wandering bards from Ireland who had a poem to recite
before the King; and as they passed through the courtyard they marked
the spear drowsing in its pot of sleepy herbs. They were made welcome,
and after listening to the lays of the King's minstrel, Brian rose and
sang:--

"'Tis little Peisear cares for spears,
Since armies, when his face they see,
All overcome with panic fears
Without a wound they turn and flee.

"The Yew is monarch of the wood,
No other tree disputes its claim.
The shining shaft in venom stewed
Flies fiercely forth to kill and ma