" "Tell me this first," said Conan, "who was it made the
Dord Fiann, the Mutterer of the Fianna, and when was it made?" "I will
tell you the truth of that," said Finn; "it was made in Ireland by the
three sons of Cearmait Honey-Mouth; and nine men used to be sounding it,
and since it came to me I have fifty men sounding it." "And tell me
this," said Conan, "what is the music pleased you best of all you ever
heard?" "I will tell you that," said Finn; "the time the seven
battalions of the Fianna are gathered in the one place and raise their
spear-shafts over their heads, and the sharp whining of the clear, cold
wind goes through them, that is very sweet to me. And when the
drinking-hall is set out in Almhuin, and the cup-bearers give out the
bright cups to the chief men of the Fianna, that is very sweet to me;
and it is sweet to me to be listening to the voice of the sea-gull and
the heron, and the noise of the waves of Traig Liath, the song of the
three sons of Meardha, the whistle of Lugaidh's Son, and the voice of
the cuckoo in the beginning of summer, and the grunting of the pigs on
the Plain of Eithne, and the shouting of laughter in Doire." And it is
what he said: "The Dord in the green-topped woods, the lasting wash of
the waves against the shore, the noise of the waves at Traig Liath
meeting with the river of the White Trout; the three men that came to
the Fianna, a man of them gentle and a man of them rough, another man of
them ploughing the clouds, they were sweeter than any other thing.
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