Sometimes, however, one hears of their being fed with supernatural food, so that they need little or none of our food. I met a young man once in the Burren Hills who remembered an old Gaelic poet, who had loved Maive, and was always very sorrowful because she had deserted him. One of the most lovely of old Gaelic poems is the appeal of such a lover to his beloved. I call you to. The beer of Ireland is heady, hut the beer of the Great Plain is much more heady.
Men are charming, and without a blot there.
0 woman, when you come into my powerful country, you will wear a crown of gold upon your head. The greatest among them were the gods and goddesses of ancient Ireland, and men have not yet forgotten their glory.