The spirit of that story has
never died in the soul of the Irish and in their poetry up to the
present day.
Lastly, as we read these stories, even in a modern dress, an
impression of great ancientry is made upon us, so much so that some
scholars have tried to turn Finn into a mythical hero--but if he be as
old as that implies, of how great an age must be the clearly mythic
tales which gather round the Tuatha de Danaan? However this may be,
the impression of ancientry is deep and agreeable. All myths in any
nation are, of course, of a high antiquity, but as they treat of the
beginning of things, they mingle an impression of youth with one of
age. This is very pleasant to the imagination, and especially so if
the myths, as in Ireland, have some poetic beauty or strangeness, as
in the myth I have referred to--of the deep spring of clear water and
the nine hazels of wisdom that encompass it. This mingling of the
beauty of youth and the honour of ancientry runs through all the Irish
tales. Youth and the love of it, of its beauty and strength, adorn and
vitalize their grey antiquity. But where, in their narrative, the
hero's youth is over and the sword weak in his hand, and the passion
less in his and his sweetheart's blood, life is represented as
scarcely worth the living.
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