• Conary


I saw, drawn up at every guarded door.
Full seventeen chariots ; and, between the spokes,
Spying, I saw, to rings of iron tied.
At end and side wall, thrice a hundred steeds
Groom'd sleek, ear-active, eating corn and hay."
" What means this concourse, think'st thou, Ferra-
gon ? "
" I know not if it be not that a host
Resorting, it may be, to games or fair
At Tara or at Taltin, rest to-night
In the great guest-house, 'Twill be heavier cost
Of blows and blood to win it than it seem'd."
" A guest-house, whether many within or few,
Is as the travellers' temple, and esteemed
In every civil land a sanctuary.
'Twere woe to sack the inn," said Lomna Druth.

" Lomna," said Ingcel, " when we swore our oaths
We made not reservation of the inn :
And, for their numbers, fear not, Ferragon ;
The more, the more the spoil. Say on, and tell
What heard'st thou ? "

" Through the open doors I heard
A hum as of a crowd of feasting men.
Princely the murmur, as when voices strong
Of far-heard captains on the front of war
Sink low and sweet in company of queens."

Chariots, Blood, Sanctuary
Linen Hall Library, "Ferg010", Northern Ireland Literary Archive, accessed Mon, 07/15/2024 - 08:58, https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/ferg010