"We are poets from Erin," answered Brian; "and we have brought a poem for the king."
So they were admitted and brought to the presence of the king, who seated them among the nobles of his household; and they joined in the drinking and the feasting and the revelry.
The king's poets now arose, and chanted their songs for the king and his guests. And when the applause had ceased, Brian, speaking softly, said to his brothers—
"Arise, now, and chant a poem for the king."
But they answered, "Ask us not to do that which we are unable to do; but if you wish us to exercise the art we have learned from our youth, we shall do so, namely, the art of fighting and overcoming our foes."
"That would be an unusual way of reciting poetry," said Brian; "but I have a poem for the king, and I shall now chant it for him."
So saying, he stood up; and when there was silence, he recited this poem—
In royal state may Pezar ever reign,
Like some vast yew tree, monarch of the plain;
May Pezar's mystic javelin, long and bright,
Bring slaughter to his foes in every fight!
When Pezar fights and shakes his dreadful spear,
Whole armies fly and heroes quake with fear:
What shielded foe, what champion can withstand,
The blazing spear in mighty Pezar's hand!
"Your poem is a good one," said the king; "but one thing in it I do not understand, namely, why you make mention of my spear."