At this moment one of Bonn's brothers came running swiftly from the house, and great astonishment was in his face and his voice.
"There is a Fian's shield on the wall, and a noise like a rushing wind is issuing from it," he cried, "and the spear hanging beneath it is struggling and writhing, though no hand is near it, and a strange, weird music sounds from it."
"It is mine," said Fionn, "and the demons imprisoned in it make a deadly song of war."
They hurried into the house, and Fionn took his murmuring, twisting spear into his hand.
"Oh, my treasure," he said to it lovingly, "now I hear your voice I know there will be a fight which even the high gods will leave their thrones to witness."
As he spoke flames ran up and down the blue-black spear, like venomous lightning gleams, and the low murmuring changed to a clear, triumphant war-song:
Carry me forth in thy hand, O Fionn,
I would battle and slay
Host upon host of the fighters who come
When the night follows day.
