Didn’t they hold my poor Shan from his offer to bring home the brother, and surely it was well done for his own destruction was in it. But the voice came no more to the window and the bread lay uncut on the sill.
XVII
THE EARL’S SON OF THE SEA
When the Good People fell from the Heavens above, didn’t some of them sink in the sea, and there they are dwelling this day.
Many and many a story is told of their diversions and how they be wrecking the ships; but the strangest account I ever heard tell was the fisherman’s daughter that met the Earl’s son of the sea.
She was travelling the sands by her lone, on the west coast of Ireland, and when she came near to the rocks she heard the notes of a harp. Of course she was curious to know who was out playing in that place and no dwelling near; so over she went towards the sound, and what did she come on only a beautiful yellow-haired man.
“It’s destroyed in a short space you’ll be,” she calls out, “for the tide is beginning to rise and you’ll be dashed dead on the rocks.”
“Do you know who I am?” says he.