The High?Queen of the Island of Woods had died in childbirth, and her child ut to h a woman who lived in a hut of mud and wicker, within the border of the wood. One night the woman sat rog the cradle, and p over the beauty of the child, and praying that the gods might grant him wisdom equal to his beauty. There came a knock at the door, and she got up, not a little w, for the neighbours were in the dun of the High? King a mile away; and the night was now late. Who is knog? she cried, and a thin voiswered, Open! for I am a e of the grey hawk, and I e from the darkness of the great wood. In terror she drew back the bolt, and a grey?clad woman, of a great age, and of a height more than human, came in and stood by the head of the cradle. The nurse shrank back against the wall, uo take her eyes from the woman, for she saw by the gleaming of the firelight that the feathers of the grey hawk were upon her head instead of hair. But the child slept, and the fire danced, for the one was too ignorant and the other too full of gaiety to know what a dreadful being stood there. Open! cried another voice, for I am a e of the grey hawk, and I watch over his in the darkness of the great wood. The nurse opehe dain, though her fingers could scarce hold the bolts for trembling, and anrey woman, not less old thaher, and with like feathers instead of hair, came in and stood by the first. In a little, came a third grey woman, and after her a fourth, and then another and another and another, until the hut was full of their immense bodies. They stood a long time in perfect silend stillness, for they were of those whom the dropping of the sand has roubled, but at last otered in a low thin voice: Sisters, I knew him far away by the redness of his heart under his silver skin; and then another spoke: Sisters, I knew him because his heart fluttered like a bird under a of silver cords ; and then aook up the word: Sisters, I knew him because his heart sang like a bird that is happy in a silver cage. And after that they sang together, those who were rog the cradle with long wrinkled fingers; and their voices were now tender and caressing, now like the wind blowing in the great wood, and this was their song: Out of sight is out of mind: Long have man and woman?kind, Heavy of will and light of mood, Taken away our wheaten food, Taken away our Altar stone; Hail and rain and thunder alone, And red hearts we turn to grey, Are true till Time gutter away.
When the song had died out, the e who had first spoken, said: We have nothing more to do but to mix a drop of our blood into his blood. And she scratched her arm with the sharp point of a spindle, which she had made the nurse bring to her, a a drop of blood, grey as the mist, fall upon the lips of the child; and passed out into the darkness. Thehers passed out in silene by one; and all the while the child had not opened his pink eyelids or the fire ceased to dance, for the one was too ignorant and the other too full of gaiety to know what great beings had bent over the cradle.
When the es were gohe nurse came to her ce again, and hurried to the dun of the High?King, and cried out in the midst of the assembly hall that the Sidhe, whether food or evil she knew not, had bent over the child that night; and the king and his poets and men of law, and his huntsmen, and his cooks, and his chief warriors went with her to the hut and gathered about the cradle, and were as noisy as magpies, and the child sat up and