went dancing and singing; among the streets and the
shops telling their sunny tale; not heeding the malignant
eyes and the cold brows as the sons of Balor looked side-
wards.  And they took the Philosopher from his prison,
even the Intellect of Man they took from the hands of
the doctors and lawyers, from the sly priests, from the
professors whose mouths are gorged with sawdust, and
the merchants who sell blades of grass--the awful peo-
ple of the Fomor .  .  .  and then they returned again,
dancing and singing, to the country of the gods.... 

End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Crock of Gold, by James Stephens