Exaggerate, to shake my settled soul
From that which is my right. Say on : what next ? "
" A bench of three : thick-hair'd, and equal-long
The hair on poll and brow. Black cloaks they wore,
Black their sword-sheaths, their hafted lances black ;
Fair men, withal, themselves, and ruddy-brown."
" Who these, oh Ferragon ? "
" I know not, I,
Unless, it may be, these be of the Picts
Exiled from Alba, who in Conor's house
Have shelter ; and, if these indeed be they.
Three better out of Alba never came
Or sturdier to withstand the brunt of blows."
" Blows they shall have," said Ingcel ; " and their
home,
Rid of their presence well, shall not again
Have need to doom them to a new exile.
What further sawest thou ? "
" On the bench beside
I saw three slender, three face-shaven men.
Robed in red mantles and with caps of red.
No swords had they, nor bore they spear or shield,
But each man on his knee a bagpipe held
With jewelled chanter flashing as he moved,
And mouth-piece ready to supply the wind."
" What pipers these ? "
" These pipers of a truth
If so it be that I mistake them not,
Appear not often in men's halls of glee :
Men of the Sidhs they are ; and I have heard
