On! on! and now a hornless deer
Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound
All pearly white, save one red ear;
And now a maiden rode like the wind
With an apple of gold in her tossing hand,
And with quenchless eyes and fluttering hair
A beautiful young man followed behind.
‘Were these two born in the Danaan land,
Or have they breathed the mortal air?’
‘Vex them no longer,’ Niamh said,