full bloom of early manhood. He wore the collar of gold that proclaimed him an Irish knight, and his shield, painted in vivid red, gave him the name by which he was praised for his valor by the bards throughout the Island, “O’Niall of the Red Shield.” The seven colors in the costume of father and son declare them of the royal blood; and the last Munster king knew no stronger arm than that of his kinsman, Fergus O’Niall, even as the reigning king had no braver shield than the red sign of Eogan, the bravest of his “Knights of the Red Wreath.”
Lurgha, the harper, had been singing of the beauty of the Princess Gyda, and when the song ceased, Fergus O’Niall turned to the young man. “My son, dost thou still hope to win this princess in the contest to-morrow?”
“I know not, my father; but all that a knight may do for the fair Gyda, will I strive to do.”
“Didst thou not hear that the giant Alfwine, he that is called the ‘Man-slayer,’ hath declared that if Gyda’s choice fall upon any other than himself, the chosen one must do single combat with him? There are few men can withstand Alfwine.”
“I may not withstand him; but I would defend my right with my life, if the fair princess should choose me.”
“I would thy life went in a better cause, my son. None hold women in higher honor than the clan
