thought to himself, “not such were even the churls of Erinn when I left them for the Land of Youth,” and he stooped from his saddle to help them.  His hand he set to the boulder, and with a mighty heave he lifted it from where it lay and set it rolling down the hill.  And the men raised a shout of wonder and applause, but their shouting changed in a moment into cries of terror and dismay, and they fled, jostling and overthrowing each other to escape from the place of fear; for a marvel horrible to see had taken place.  For Oisin’s saddle-girth had burst as he heaved the stone, and he fell headlong to the ground.  In an instant the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist, and that which rose, feeble and staggering, from the ground was no youthful warrior but a man stricken with extreme old age, white-bearded and withered, who stretched out groping hands and moaned with feeble and bitter cries.  And his crimson cloak and yellow silken tunic were now but coarse homespun stuff tied with a hempen girdle, and the gold-hilted sword was a rough oaken staff such as a beggar carries who wanders the roads from farmer’s house to house.

   [24] Glanismole, near Dublin.

When the people saw that the doom that had been wrought was not for them they returned, and found the old man prone on the ground with his face hidden in his arms.  So they lifted him up and asked who he was and what had befallen him.  Oisin gazed round on them with dim eyes, and at last he said, “I was Oisin the son of Finn, and I pray ye tell me where he now dwells, for his Dun on the Hill of Allen is now a desolation, and I have neither seen him nor heard his hunting horn from the Western to the Eastern Sea.”  Then the men gazed strangely on each other and on Oisin, and the overseer asked, “Of what Finn dost thou speak, for there be many of that name in Erinn?” Oisin said, “Surely of Finn mac Cumhal mac Trenmor, captain of the Fianna of Erinn.”  Then the overseer said, “Thou art daft, old man, and thou hast made us daft to take thee for a youth as we did a while agone.  But we at least have now our wits again, and we know that Finn son of Cumhal and all his generation have been dead these three hundred years.  At the battle of Gowra fell Oscar, son of Oisin, and Finn at the battle of Brea, as the historians tell us; and the lays of Oisin, whose death no man knows the manner of, are sung by our harpers at great men’s feasts.  But now the Talkenn,[25] Patrick, has come into Ireland and has preached to us the One God and Christ His Son, by whose might these old days and ways are done away with, and Finn and his Fianna, with their feasting and hunting and songs of war and of love, have no such reverence among us as the monks and virgins of holy Patrick, and the psalms and prayers that go up daily to cleanse us from sin and to save us from the fire of judgment.”  But Oisin replied, half hearing and still less comprehending what was said to him, “If thy God have slain Finn and Oscar, I would say that God is a strong man.”  Then they all cried out upon him, and some picked up stones, but the overseer bade them let him be until the Talkenn had spoken with him, and till he should order what was to be done.