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This volume contains James Stephen's fantastic fairy tale, "The Crock of Gold". A fusion of philosophy and Irish folklore, "The Crock of Gold" revolves around the events that unfolded when the god Pan appeared on the Emerald Isle. How Angus Og reacts to Pan's arrival, and what happens to the Daughter of Murrachu who becomes caught in the turmoil, are the questions that drive this humorous and charming tale. Complete with magic, fairies and leprechauns,...
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Irish Fairy Tales is a selection of mythical stories highlighting themes of love, duty and deception in the magical setting of ancient and medieval Ireland. Each narrative presents internal and external conflicts that test the moral code of its leading characters.
James Stephens explores Ireland's cherished history though the eyes of fabled hunters, soldiers, kings and queens. Many stories feature the Fianna, a group of tribal warriors, and their...
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James Stephens afirmó que «en este libro hay tan solo un personaje: el ser humano» pues cada uno de los seres que pueblan sus páginas simboliza alguna de las facultades del alma humana. Sin embargo, el tiempo ha demostrado que La olla de oro va más allá de las intenciones del propio autor. Su rica dimensión simbólica y su profunda reflexión sobre la vida hacen de esta una novela inclasificable, fruto de la brillante pluma de un autor, capaz...
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Fionn mac Uail was the most prudent chief of an army in the world, but he was not always prudent on his own account. Discipline sometimes irked him, and he would then take any opportunity that presented for an adventure; for he was not only a soldier, he was a poet also, that is, a man of science, and whatever was strange or unusual had an irresistible at-traction for him.
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It happened that Fionn mac Uail had summoned the gentlemen of the Fianna and their wives to a banquet. Everybody came, for a banquet given by Fionn was not a thing to be missed. There was Goll mor mac Morna and his people; Fionn's son Oisi'n and his grandson Oscar. There was Dermod of the Gay Face, Caelte mac Ronan-but indeed there were too many to be told of, for all the pillars of war and battle-torches of the Gael were there.
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Finnian, the Abbott of Moville, went southwards and eastwards in great haste. News had come to him in Donegal that there were yet people in his own province who believed in gods that he did not approve of, and the gods that we do not approve of are treated scurvily, even by saintly men.
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Evening was drawing nigh, and the Fianna-Finn had decided to hunt no more that day. The hounds were whistled to heel, and a sober, homeward march began. For men will walk soberly in the evening, however they go in the day, and dogs will take the mood from their masters. They were pacing so, through the golden-shafted, tender-coloured eve, when a fawn leaped suddenly from covert, and, with that leap, all quietness vanished: the men shouted, the dogs...
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He was a king, a seer and a poet. He was a lord with a manifold and great train. He was our magician, our knowledgeable one, our soothsayer. All that he did was sweet with him. And, however ye deem my testimony of Fionn excessive, and, although ye hold my praising overstrained, nevertheless, and by the King that is above me, he was three times better than all I say.
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There are more worlds than one, and in many ways, they are unlike each other. But joy and sorrow, or, in other words, good and evil, are not absent in their degree from any of the worlds, for wherever there is life there is action, and action is but the expression of one or other of these qualities.
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There are people who do not like dogs a bit-they are usually women-but in this story there is a man who did not like dogs. In fact, he hated them. When he saw one he used to go black in the face, and he threw rocks at it until it got out of sight. But the Power that protects all creatures had put a squint into this man's eye, so that he always threw crooked.
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We do not know where Becfola came from. Nor do we know for certain where she went to. We do not even know her real name, for the name Becfola, "Dowerless" or "Small-dowered," was given to her as a nickname. This only is certain, that she disappeared from the world we know of, and that she went to a realm where even conjecture may not follow her.
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