Other editions of book The King of Ireland's Son

Celebrated Irish author Padraic Colum dazzled audiences with his retellings of old Gaelic myths. In The King of Ireland's Son, he imbues seven favorite tales from the Emerald Isle with sly humor, whimsy, and imagination. Stories include "Fedelma, the Enchanter's Daughter", "When the King of the Cats Came to King Connal's Dominion", "The Sword of Light", "The Town of the Red Castle", "The King of the Land of Mist", "The House of Crom Duv", and "The Spae-Woman". It's hours of entertainment for the whole family!

The King of Ireland's Son is a children's novel published in Ireland in 1916 written by Padraic Colum. It is the story of the eldest of the King of Ireland's sons, and his adventures winning and then finding Fedelma, the Enchanter's Daughter, who after being won is kidnapped from him by the King of the Land of Mist. It is solidly based in Irish folklore, itself being originally a folktale.

Fedelma, The Enchanter's Daughter Connal was the name of the King who ruled over Ireland at that time. He had three sons, and, as the fir-trees grow, some crooked and some straight, one of them grew up so wild that in the end the King and the King's Councillor had to let him have his own way in everything. This youth was the King's eldest son and his mother had died before she could be a guide to him. Now after the King and the King's Councillor left him to his own way the youth I'm telling you about did nothing but ride and hunt all day. Well, one morning he rode abroad-—His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; And I went where the rowans grow

Fedelma, The Enchanter's Daughter Connal was the name of the King who ruled over Ireland at that time. He had three sons, and, as the fir-trees grow, some crooked and some straight, one of them grew up so wild that in the end the King and the King's Councillor had to let him have his own way in everything. This youth was the King's eldest son and his mother had died before she could be a guide to him. Now after the King and the King's Councillor left him to his own way the youth I'm telling you about did nothing but ride and hunt all day. Well, one morning he rode abroad-—His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; And I went where the rowans grow

"The King of Ireland's Son" by Padraic Colum. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.

Fedelma, The Enchanter's Daughter Connal was the name of the King who ruled over Ireland at that time. He had three sons, and, as the fir-trees grow, some crooked and some straight, one of them grew up so wild that in the end the King and the King's Councillor had to let him have his own way in everything. This youth was the King's eldest son and his mother had died before she could be a guide to him. Now after the King and the King's Councillor left him to his own way the youth I'm telling you about did nothing but ride and hunt all day. Well, one morning he rode abroad-—His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; And I went where the rowans grow

Fedelma, The Enchanter's Daughter Connal was the name of the King who ruled over Ireland at that time. He had three sons, and, as the fir-trees grow, some crooked and some straight, one of them grew up so wild that in the end the King and the King's Councillor had to let him have his own way in everything. This youth was the King's eldest son and his mother had died before she could be a guide to him. Now after the King and the King's Councillor left him to his own way the youth I'm telling you about did nothing but ride and hunt all day. Well, one morning he rode abroad-—His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; And I went where the rowans grow

"Prince," said the old fellow looking up at him, "if you can play a game as well as you can sing a song, I'd like if you would sit down beside me." "I can play any game," said the King of Ireland's Son. He fastened his horse to the branch of a tree and sat down on the heap of stones beside the old man. "What shall we play for?" said the gray old fellow. "Whatever you like," said the King of Ireland's Son. "If I win you must give me anything I ask, and if you win I shall give you anything you ask. Will you agree to that?" "If it is agreeable to you it is agreeable to me," said the King of Ireland's Son. They played, and the King of Ireland's Son won the game. "Now what do you desire me to give, King's Son?" said the gray old fellow. "I shan't ask you for anything," said the King of Ireland's Son, "for I think you haven't much to give." "Never mind that," said the gray old fellow. "I mustn't break my promise, and so you must ask me for something." "Very well," said the King's Son. "Then there's a field at the back of my father's Castle and I want to see it filled with cattle to-morrow morning. Can you do that for me?" "I can," said the gray old fellow. "Then I want fifty cows, each one white with a red ear, and a white calf going beside each cow." "The cattle shall be as you wish." "Well, when that's done I shall think the wager has been paid," said the King of Ireland's son. He mounted his horse, smiling at the foolish old man who played cards with himself and who thought he could bring together fifty white kine, each with a red ear, and a white calf by the side of each cow. He rode away His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; A brave steed to carry him whither he list, And the green ground under him, and he thought no more of the gray old fellow. But in the morning, when he was taking his horse out of the stable, he heard the grooms talking about a strange happening. Art, the King's Steward, had gone out and had found the field at the back of the Castle filled with cattle. There were fifty white red-eared kine there and each cow had a white calf at her side. The King had ordered Art, his Steward, to drive them away. The King of Ireland's Son watched Art and his men trying to do it. But no sooner were the strange cattle put out at one side of the field than they came back on the other. Then down came Maravaun, the King's Councillor. He declared they were enchanted cattle, and that no one on Ireland's ground could put them away. So in the seven-acre field the cattle stayed. When the King of Ireland's Son saw what his companion of yesterday could do he rode straight to the glen to try if he could have another game with him. There at the turn of the road, on a heap of stones, the gray old fellow was sitting playing a game of cards, the right hand against the left. The King of Ireland's Son fastened his horse to the branch of a tree and dismounted. "Did you find yesterday's wager settled?" said the gray old fellow. "I did," said the King of Ireland's Son. "Then shall we have another game of cards on the same understanding?" said the gray old fellow. "I agree, if you agree," said the King of Ireland's son. He sat under the bush beside him and they played again. The King of Ireland's Son won. "What would you like me to do for you this time?" said the gray old fellow. Now the King's Son had a step-mother, and she was often cross-tempered, and that very morning he and she had vexed each other. So he said, "Let a brown bear, holding a burning coal in his mouth, put Caintigern the Queen from her chair in the supper-room to-night." "It shall be done," said the gray old fellow. Then the King of Ireland's Son mounted his horse and rode away His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist; A brave steed to carry him whither he list, And the green ground under him, and he went back to the Castle.

Without doubt, The King of Ireland’s Son is the best of Padraic Colum’s books. Originally published in 1916, this classic has stood the test of time and remains one of the greatest set of tales ever—full of humor, imagination and drama. This edition has been freshly typeset in a modern font, as well as carefully edited, annotated and endnoted, allowing the reader to enter fully into all the often playful subtlety of meaning Colum gives to the names, places and objects in the tale. In addition, the pronunciation of the Irish and Celtic names and words has been noted, often with a background note or two as to their meaning. These are no stories retold by an academic or scholar, but rousing, living tales recounted from Colum’s own childhood in Ireland. There, as a boy, he heard firsthand the myths and sagas, folk and fairy tales from itinerant storytellers who wandered the roads and told their stories in exchange for a roof over their heads and a bite to eat. He was a witness to the last generation of a long tradition stretching far back into the mists of time. Colum won awards and recognition aplenty for his work in his adopted country, the United States, and for the whole of his long life he carried on the storyteller’s tradition. Even now, though he is long gone from us, his voice still sounds fresh and clear and full of life through the written text. Willy Pogany, a Hungarian artist, was a contemporary of Colum. He illustrated this volume with a wonderful sense of artistic fantasy and playfulness.