In |1green Erin of the west Inisfail the fair1| there is lies a land, the land of holy Michan. There rises a watchtower beheld from afar. There sleep the dead as they |1slept in life in life slept1|, warriors and princes of high renown. There wave the lofty trees of sycamore; the eucalyptus, giver of good shade, is not absent: and in their shadows sit the maidens of that land, the daughters of princes. They |1sing and1| sport with silvery fishes caught in silken nets: their fair white fingers toss the gems of the |1fishful1| sea, ruby and purple of Tyre. And men come from afar, heroes, the sons of kings, to woo them for they are beautiful and all of noble stem.
|1|xGurnard & plaice those are. Speckled backs. One after another hook in their gills. Can't be hunger drives them. Probably curiosity. Curiosity killed the fish.x|1|
|1O'Bloom went by |aO'Bloom went on Who comesa|1| through Inn's quay ward, the parish of saint Michan. |1It is O'Bloom, the son of Rudolph, |athe son of Leopold Peter, son of Peter Rudolph,a| he of the intrepid heart impervious to all fear1| |1He moved, moving,1| |1the son of Rudolph,1| a noble hero, eastward towards Pill lane, among the squatted |1stench of1| fishgirls and by the gutboards where lay heaps of red and purple fishguts |1of gurnard, pollock, plaice and halibut1|. He went by the city market, |1O'Bloom of the intrepid heart. |aa man of intrepid heart.a|1|
There rises a shining
palace with crystal
glittering roof, beheld from afar by mariners who traverse the sea in barks:
and thither come the herds, the firstfruits and the offerings of that land for
O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them there, a chieftain descended from
chieftains. Thither the wains bring
foison of fruits
and vegetables in their seasons, golden potatoes and seagreen kale and onions,
pearls of the earth, and lustrous apples and strawberries fit for princes and
raspberries from their canes. And thither wend
from pastures of Lusk and Carrickmines |1from |astreamy valesa|1| Ossory and Coosbaragh, their udders swollen with abundance of milk and butter and rich cheese and eggs, |1various in size,1| the agates |1and with1| the dun.
|1And on the dexter hand in solemn array are set forth the accoutrements of noble heroes: there hangs the breastplate of Brian, by whose might the Vikings were brought to nought: there, the helm of Oscar, son of Finn: there the bardic cloak of Ossian, the sightless seer, wanderer to many shores.
Bloom went by Mary's |aLane lanea| and saw the sordid row of old clothes' shops, the old hucksterwomen seated by the baskets of battered hats, amid the dangling legs of |amanless leglessa| trousers, culprit limp |alimpa| coats |ahung by the necka|.
Like culprits. Be taken to the prison from whence you came and there be hanged by the neck till you are |abought solda| and may the Lord. |aEmmet. Martyrs they want to be. My life for Ireland. Romance. Girl in a window watching. Wiping away a tear. Hung up for scarecrows. Quite the contrary effect of course. Where was it battle of Fontenoy they charged. Remember Limerick.a| Hard times those were in Holles street when Molly tried that game. Nothing in it: blind rut. Chiefly women, of course. Devils to please. Come back tomorrow. Ta, ta.1|