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;
A brave steed to carry him whither he list,
And the blue sky over him,

and he rode on until he came to a turn in the road. There he saw a gray old
man seated on a heap of stones playing a game of cards with himself. First he
had one hand winning and then he had the other. Now he would say "That's my
good right," and then he would say "Play and beat that, my gallant left." The
King of Ireland's Son sat on his horse to watch the strange old man, and as he
watched him he sang a song to himself

I put the fastenings on my boat
For a year and for a day,
And I went where the rowans grow,
And where the moorhens lay;

And I went over the stepping-stones
And dipped my feet in the ford,
And came at last to the Swineherd's house,--
The Youth without a Sword.