Naysi, when he had started back into the forest stood still for a
long time in his retreat. It was the hollow of a tall rock beside
a falling stream of water, all flowing snow or transparent
crystal. Holly trees and quicken trees grew from its crest, and
long twines of ivy fell down before like green torrents. Behind
them he concealed himself, when he heard the cries and the
challengings and the baying of the hounds. Then he saw the maiden
come along the forest glade by the margent of the stream, her
basket filled and over-flowing with flowers. The sentient stream
sang loud and gay to greet her approaching, with fluent liquid
fingers striking more joyously the chords of his stony lyre. Light
beyond the sun was shed through the glen before her. Birds, the
brightest of plumage and sweetest of note of all the birds of
Banba, [Footnote: One of Ireland's ancient names.] filled the air
with their songs, flying behind her and before her, and on her
right hand and on her left. Through his lattice of trailing ivy
the son of Usna saw her. Her countenance was purer and clearer
than morning-dew upon the rose or the lily, and the rose and lily,
nay, the whiteness of the snow of one night and the redness of the
reddest rose, were there.
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