hen the
men were going out to battle, the Dagda would set up his magic harp and
sweep his hand across the strings, and a war song would ring out which
would make every warrior buckle on his armor, brace his knees, and
shout, "Forth to the fight!" Then, when the men came back from the
battle, weary and wounded, the Dagda would take his harp and strike a
few chords, and as the magic music stole out upon the air, every man
forgot his weariness and the smart of his wounds, and thought of the
honor he had won, and of the comrade who had died beside him, and of
the safety of his wife and children. Then the song would swell out
louder, and every warrior would remember only the glory he had helped
win for the king; and each man would rise at the great tables his cup
in his hand, and shout "Long live the King!"

There came a time when the Fomorians and the golden-haired men were at
war; and in the midst of a great battle, while the Dagda's hall was not
so well guarded as usual, some of the chieftains of the Fomorians stole
the great harp from the wall, where it hung, and fled away with it.
Their wives and children and some few of their soldiers went with them,
and they fled fast and far through the night, until they were a long
way from the battlefield. Then they thought they were safe, and they
turned aside into a vacant castle, by the road, and sat down to a
banquet, hanging the stolen harp on the wall.

The Dagda, with two or three of his warriors, had followed hard on
their track. And while they were in the midst of their banqueting, the
door was suddenly burst open, and the Dagda stood there, with his men.
Some of the Fomorians sprang to their feet, but before any of them
could grasp a weapon, the Dagda called out to his harp on the wall,
"Come to me, O my harp!"

The great harp recognized its master's voice, and leaped from the wall.
Whirling through the hall, sweeping aside and killing the men who got
in its way, it sprang to its master's hand. And the Dagda took his
harp and swept his hand across the strings in three great, solemn
chords. The harp answered with the magic Music of Tears. As the
wailing harmony smote upon the air, the women of the Fomorians bowed
their heads and wept bitterly, the strong men turned their faces aside,
and the little children sobbed.

Again the Dagda touched the strings, and this time the magic Music of
Mirth leaped from the harp. And when they heard that Music of Mirth,
the young wa