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  <title>Item Dublin Core</title>
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  <updated>2026-04-04T04:27:45+01:00</updated>
  <author>
    <name>admin</name>
    <email>niwa@bt48.com</email>
  </author>
  <entry>
    <id>516</id>
    <title>Ferg006</title>
    <updated>Monday, June 27, 2016 - 12:15</updated>
    <link href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom"/>
    <collections>Conary</collections>
    <contributor>Linen Hall Library</contributor>
    <coverage>1880</coverage>
    <creator>Linen Hall Library</creator>
    <date>Saturday, March 12, 2016</date>
    <format>TIFF</format>
    <identifier>Ferg006</identifier>
    <itemdescription>Manuscript</itemdescription>
    <keywords>Prohibitions, Triad, Tara</keywords>
    <language>English</language>
    <path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/ferg006</path>
    <publisher>Linen Hall Library</publisher>
    <relation>Linen Hall Library</relation>
    <rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</rights>
    <scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Ferg006_2.jpg</scannedimage>
    <source>LHL Archive</source>
    <transcript>﻿Said Conary. &quot; I also call to mind
Amid my prohibitions this is one,
To follow three red riders on the way ;
Injunction idle, were it not divine.
After them, Ferflath ; stay them till we pass.&quot;
Then the Hght lad young Ferflath, Conary &#039;s son
Sprang forth at gallop on the red men&#039;s track,
And called his message shrilly from behind,
But failed to overtake them. He who rode
Last of the triad sang him back a lay —
&quot; Water, oh youth, oh high swift-riding youth,
On back, on neck, on shoulder Highly borne.
Water will quench : fire burn ; and shocks of hair
At horrid tidings, upon warriors&#039; heads
Bristle as reeds in water ; water ; ho ! &quot;
Ferflath returned, and told to Conary
The lay the red man sang ; &quot; and sir,&quot; he said,
&quot; I rode, I think, as seemly as himself.
And know not what he meant : but sure I am
These are not men of mankind, as we are.
But fairy men and ministers of ill.&quot;
&quot; Now then,&quot; said Conary, &quot; let every gaysh
That dread Religion with hard-knotting hand
Binds on the King of Tara, for to-day
Be broken ! Let them go. They may precede ;
May tie their red steeds at the great hall door,
And choose their seats within ; and I, the King,
May follow, and accept the traveller&#039;s place
Last to attain the inn. Well, be it so :
Respect departs with fortune&#039;s one-day change
But, friends, despond not, you. Though few we be
In midst of these marauders (oh, my heart 
</transcript>
    <type>Text</type>
    <updateddate>Monday, June 27, 2016 - 12:15</updateddate>
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