"Well I do! But here's where the O'Keefe lands.
"I said," he turned to her, "O voice of silver fire, that your spirit is high even as your beauty--and searches out men's souls as does your loveliness their hearts.

And now listen, Yolara, for what I speak is truth"-- into his eyes came the far-away gaze; into his voice the Irish softness--"Lo, in my land of Ireland, this many of your life's length agone--see"-- he raised his ten fingers, clenched and unclenched them times twenty--"the mighty men of my race, the Taitha-da-Dainn, could send men out into the nothingness even as do you with the Keth.

And this they did by their harpings, and by words spoken--words of power, O Yolara, that have their power still--and by pipings and by slaying sounds.
"There was Cravetheen who played swift flames from his harp, flying flames that ate those they were sent against.

And there was Dalua, of Hy Brasil, whose pipes played away from man and beast and all living things their shadows--and at last played them to shadows too, so that wherever Dalua went his shadows that had been men and beast followed like a storm of little rustling leaves; yea, and Bel the Harper, who could make women's hearts run like wax and men's hearts flame to ashes and whose harpings could shatter strong cliffs and bow great trees to the sod--" His eyes were bright, dream-filled; she shrank a little from him, faint pallor under the perfect skin.
"I say to you, Yolara, that these things were and are--in Ireland." His voice rang strong.

"And I have seen men as many as those that are in your great chamber this many times over"-- he clenched his hands once more, perhaps a dozen times--"blasted into nothingness before your Keth could even have touched them.