The king himself could set me up again; but the distance between him and me is ten times round the world and back again!" But then Dyck nodded kindly.
It was as if suddenly the martyr spirit had lifted him out of rigid, painful isolation, and he was speaking from a hilltop.

"No, my friends, what is in my mind now is that I'm hungry.

For four years I've eaten the bread of prison, and it's soured my mouth and galled my belly.

Go you to that inn and make ready a good meal." The two men started to leave, but old Christopher turned and stretched a hand up and out.
"Son of Ireland, bright and black and black and bright may be the picture of your life, but I see for you brightness and sweet faces, and music and song.

It's not Irish music, and it's not Irish song, but the soul of the thing is Irish.