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.
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