This is a modern-English version of Poems, originally written by Yeats, W. B. (William Butler). It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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POEMS

EVERY IRISHMAN'S LIBRARY

EVERY IRISH PERSON'S LIBRARY

Cr. 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. net each. With Frontispieces.

8vo, cloth, £3.50 each. Includes frontispieces.

LIST OF VOLUMES

1.	Thomas Davis. Selections from his prose and poetry. Edited by T.W. Rolleston, M.A. (Dublin).
2.	Wild Sports of the West. By W.H. Maxwell. Edited by the Earl of Dunraven.
3.	Legends of Saints and Sinners from the Irish. Edited by Douglas Hyde, LL.D. (Dublin).
4.	The Book of Irish Humour. Edited by Charles L. Graves, M.A. (Oxon.).
5.	Irish Orators and Oratory. With an Introduction by Professor T.M. Kettle, M.P.
6.	The Book of Irish Poetry. Edited by Alfred Perceval Graves, M.A. (Dublin).
7.	Standish O'Grady. Selected Essays and Writings. Edited by Ernest A. Boyd.
8.	Recollections of Jonah Barrington. Edited by George A. Birmingham.
9.	Poems of Sir Samuel Ferguson. Edited by Alfred Perceval Graves, M.A.
10.	Carleton's Stories of Irish Life. With an Introduction by Darrell Figgis.
11.	The Collegians. By Gerald Griffin. With Introduction by Padraic Colum.
12.	Maria Edgeworth: Selections from Her Works. With an Introduction by Malcolm Cotter Seton, M.A.

T. FISHER UNWIN LTD., LONDON

POEMS

BY
W. B. YEATS

BY
W.B. YEATS

LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN LTD.
ADELPHI TERRACE

LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN LTD. ADELPHI TERRACE

"The Wanderings of Oisin" was published with the lyrics now collected under the title "Crossways" in 1888, "The Countess Cathleen" with the lyrics now collected under the title "The Rose" in 1892, and "The Land of Heart's Desire" by itself in 1894. They were revised and reprinted in one volume in 1895, again revised and reprinted in 1899, and again reprinted in 1901, 1904, 1908, 1912, 1913, 1919, and 1920.

"The Wanderings of Oisin" was published along with the lyrics now combined under the title "Crossways" in 1888, "The Countess Cathleen" with the lyrics now collected under the title "The Rose" in 1892, and "The Land of Heart's Desire" as a standalone work in 1894. They were revised and reprinted in a single volume in 1895, then revised and reprinted again in 1899, and further reprinted in 1901, 1904, 1908, 1912, 1913, 1919, and 1920.

vii

PREFACE

During the last year I have spent much time altering "The Countess Cathleen" and "The Land of Heart's Desire" that they might be a part of the repertory of the Abbey Theatre. I had written them before I had any practical experience, and I knew from the performance of the one in Dublin in 1899 and of the other in London in 1894 that they were full of defects. But in their new shape—and each play has been twice played during the winter—they have given me some pleasure, and are, I think, easier to play effectively than my later plays, depending less upon the players and more upon the producer, both having been imagined more for variety of stage-picture than variety of mood in the player. It was, indeed, the first performance of "The Countess Cathleen," when our stage-pictures were made out of poor conventional scenery and hired costumes, that set meviii writing plays where all would depend upon the player. The first two scenes are wholly new, and though I have left the old end in the body of this book I have given in the notes an end less difficult to producer and audience, and there are slight alterations elsewhere in the poem. "The Land of Heart's Desire," besides some mending in the details, has been thrown back in time because the metrical speech would have sounded unreal if spoken in a country cottage now that we have so many dialect comedies. The shades of Mrs. Fallan and Mrs. Dillane and of Dan Bourke and the Tramp would have seemed too boisterous or too vivid for shades made cold and distant with the artifice of verse.

Over the past year, I've spent a lot of time revising "The Countess Cathleen" and "The Land of Heart's Desire" so they can be part of the Abbey Theatre's repertoire. I wrote them before I had any real experience, and from the performances of the first in Dublin in 1899 and the other in London in 1894, I knew they had many flaws. However, in their new forms—and both plays have been performed twice this winter—they’ve brought me some joy, and I believe they are easier to perform effectively than my later works, relying less on the actors and more on the director. Both plays were conceived more for the variety of stage visuals than the variety of emotions from the actors. It was indeed the initial performance of "The Countess Cathleen," where we used poor conventional scenery and rented costumes, that inspired me to write plays where the actors truly mattered. The first two scenes are entirely new, and although I’ve included the old ending in this book, I’ve provided a less challenging ending for the producer and audience in the notes, along with some minor alterations elsewhere in the poem. "The Land of Heart's Desire," aside from some adjustments in the details, has been set earlier in time because the rhythmic dialogue would have seemed out of place if spoken in a modern country cottage, especially with so many dialect comedies around. The spirits of Mrs. Fallan, Mrs. Dillane, Dan Bourke, and the Tramp would seem too loud or too vivid for characters rendered cold and distant through poetic artifice.

I have not again retouched the lyric poems of my youth, fearing some stupidity in my middle years, but have changed two or three pages that I always knew to be wrong in "The Wanderings of Usheen."

I haven't revisited the lyric poems from my youth, worried that I might mess them up in my middle years, but I've changed a couple of pages that I've always known were wrong in "The Wanderings of Usheen."

W.B. YEATS.

W.B. Yeats.

June, 1912.

June 1912.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

I have added some passages to "The Land of Heart's Desire," and a new scene of some little length, besides passages here and there, to "The Countess Cathleen." The goddess has never come to me with her hands so full that I have not found many waste places after I had planted all that she had brought me. The present version of "The Countess Cathleen" is not quite the version adopted by the Irish Literary Theatre a couple of years ago, for our stage and scenery were capable of little; and it may differ more from any stage version I make in future, for it seems that my people of the waters and my unhappy dead, in the third act, cannot keep their supernatural essence, but must put on too much of our mortality, in any ordinary theatre. I am told that I must abandon a meaning or two and make my merchants carry away the treasure themselves.x The act was written long ago, when I had seen so few plays that I took pleasure in stage effects. Indeed, I am not yet certain that a wealthy theatre could not shape it to an impressive pageantry, or that a theatre without any wealth could not lift it out of pageantry into the mind, with a dim curtain, and some dimly lighted players, and the beautiful voices that should be as important in poetical as in musical drama. The Elizabethan stage was so little imprisoned in material circumstance that the Elizabethan imagination was not strained by god or spirit, nor even by Echo herself—no, not even when she answered, as in "The Duchess of Malfi," in clear, loud words which were not the words that had been spoken to her. We have made a prison-house of paint and canvas, where we have as little freedom as under our own roofs, for there is no freedom in a house that has been made with hands. All art moves in the cave of the Chimæra, or in the garden of the Hesperides, or in the more silent house of the gods, and neither cave, nor garden, nor house can show itself clearly but to the mind's eye.

I’ve added some sections to "The Land of Heart's Desire," along with a new, somewhat lengthy scene, plus some bits here and there to "The Countess Cathleen." The muse has never shown up with so much inspiration that I didn't find a lot of empty spaces after using everything she gave me. The current version of "The Countess Cathleen" isn’t quite the same as the one the Irish Literary Theatre used a couple of years ago, because our stage and set were quite limited; it might differ even more from any future stage adaptations I create, since it seems that my characters from the water and my doomed spirits in the third act can’t maintain their supernatural quality and have to take on too much of our human nature in any regular theater. I’ve been told I need to drop a meaning or two and have my merchants carry off the treasure themselves.x This act was written long ago, when I had seen so few plays that I enjoyed the stage effects. In fact, I’m still not convinced that a rich theater couldn’t turn it into impressive spectacle, or that a theater without wealth couldn’t elevate it beyond spectacle to something deeper, with a subtle backdrop, some softly-lit actors, and the beautiful voices that should matter as much in poetic drama as they do in musical drama. The Elizabethan stage wasn’t so restricted by material circumstances that the Elizabethan imagination was burdened by gods or spirits, or even by Echo herself—not even when she replied, as in "The Duchess of Malfi," in clear, loud words that were not what had been spoken to her. We’ve created a prison of paint and canvas, where we have as little freedom as we do in our own homes, because there is no freedom in a structure built by human hands. All art exists in the cave of the Chimæra, or in the garden of the Hesperides, or in the quieter home of the gods, and none of these—neither cave, nor garden, nor home—can truly reveal themselves except to the mind’s eye.

Besides rewriting a lyric or two, I have much enlarged the note on "The Countess Cathleen," as there has been some discussion in Ireland about thexi origin of the story, but the other notes are as they have always been. They are short enough, but I do not think that anybody who knows modern poetry will find obscurities in this book. In any case, I must leave my myths and symbols to explain themselves as the years go by and one poems lights up another, and the stories that friends, and one friend in particular, have gathered for me, or that I have gathered myself in many cottages, find their way into the light. I would, if I could, add to that majestic heraldry of the poets, that great and complicated inheritance of images which written literature has substituted for the greater and more complex inheritance of spoken tradition, some new heraldic images, gathered from the lips of the common people. Christianity and the old nature faith have lain down side by side in the cottages, and I would proclaim that peace as loudly as I can among the kingdoms of poetry, where there is no peace that is not joyous, no battle that does not give life instead of death; I may even try to persuade others, in more sober prose, that there can be no language more worthy of poetry and of the meditation of the soul than that which has been made, or can be made, out of a subtlety of desire, an emotion of sacrifice, a delight in order, thatxii are perhaps Christian, and myths and images that mirror the energies of woods and streams, and of their wild creatures. Has any part of that majestic heraldry of the poets had a very different fountain? Is it not the ritual of the marriage of heaven and earth?

Besides rewriting a lyric or two, I've expanded the note on "The Countess Cathleen," since there’s been some discussion in Ireland about thexiorigin of the story, but the other notes remain unchanged. They’re brief enough, but I don’t think anyone familiar with modern poetry will find any confusion in this book. In any case, I have to let my myths and symbols speak for themselves as time goes on, and one poem illuminates another, while the stories that friends—especially one friend—have shared with me, or that I’ve collected myself from many cottages, come into the light. If I could, I would add to that grand tradition of poets, that rich and intricate legacy of imagery that written literature has taken from the richer and more complex legacy of spoken tradition, some new heraldic images gathered from the mouths of ordinary people. Christianity and the old nature faith have coexisted in the cottages, and I would proclaim that peace as loudly as I can among the realms of poetry, where there’s no peace that isn’t joyful, no battle that doesn’t bring life instead of death; I might even try to persuade others, in more serious prose, that there is no language more deserving of poetry and the contemplation of the soul than that which arises from a subtlety of desire, an emotion of sacrifice, a joy in order, whichxiiare perhaps Christian, alongside myths and images that reflect the energies of woods and streams, and their wild creatures. Has any part of that grand tradition of poets come from a different source? Isn't it the ritual of the union of heaven and earth?

These details may seem to many unnecessary; but after all one writes poetry for a few careful readers and for a few friends, who will not consider such details unnecessary. When Cimabue had the cry it was, it seems, worth thinking of those that run; but to-day, when they can write as well as read, one can sit with one's companions under the hedgerow contentedly. If one writes well and has the patience, somebody will come from among the runners and read what one has written quickly, and go away quickly, and write out as much as he can remember in the language of the highway.

These details might seem unnecessary to many, but ultimately, poetry is written for a few attentive readers and close friends who won’t dismiss such details. When Cimabue was around, it was important to think about those who ran; but today, when people can both write and read well, one can comfortably sit with friends under the hedgerow. If you write well and have the patience, someone will eventually come from among the runners, read your work quickly, leave in a hurry, and write down as much as they can recall in the common language.

W.B. YEATS.

W.B. Yeats.

January, 1901.

January 1901.

^*_*^*

xiii

		PAGE
The Countess Cathleen		1
The Rose—
	To the Rose upon the Rood of Time	109
	Fergus and the Druid	111
	The Death of Cuchulain	114
	The Rose of the World	119
	The Rose of Peace	120
	The Rose of Battle	121
	A Faery Song	123
	The Lake Isle of Innisfree	124
	A Cradle Song	125
	The Pity of Love	126
	The Sorrow of Love	127
	When You are Old	128
	The White Birds	129
	A Dream of Death	131
	A Dream of a Blessed Spirit	132
	Who goes with Fergus	133
	The Man who Dreamed of Faeryland	134
	The Dedication to a Book of Stories selected from the Irish Novelists	137
	The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner	139xiv
	The Ballad of Father Gilligan	140
	The Two Trees	143
	To Ireland in the Coming Times	145
The Land of Heart's Desire		149
Crossways—
	The Song of the Happy Shepherd	197
	The Sad Shepherd	200
	The Cloak, The Boat, and the Shoes	202
	Anashuya and Vijaya	203
	The Indian upon God	209
	The Indian to his Love	211
	The Falling of the Leaves	213
	Ephemera	214
	The Madness of King Goll	216
	The Stolen Child	220
	To an Isle in the Water	223
	Down by the Salley Gardens	224
	The Meditation of the Old Fisherman	225
	The Ballad of Father O'Hart	226
	The Ballad of Moll Magee	229
	The Ballad of the Foxhunter	232
The Wanderings of Usheen		235
Glossary and Notes		299

TO SOME I HAVE TALKED WITH BY THE FIRE

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals;
And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies,
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good:
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
And with the clashing of their sword blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break,
And the white hush end all, but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

As I worked on these restless Danaan verses,
My heart overflowed with dreams of the times
When we leaned over the fading embers;
And talked about the dark beings who reside in the souls
Of passionate people, like bats in dead trees;
And of the wandering twilight groups,
Who sigh with mixed sorrow and joy,
Because their blooming dreams have never yielded
To the consequences of good and evil:
And of the battling, fiery multitude
Who rise, wing to wing, flame to flame,
And, like a storm, shout the Unspeakable Name,
And with the clash of their swords create
A mesmerizing music, until morning breaks,
And the peaceful silence ends it all, but the loud beat
Of their long wings and the flash of their white feet.

THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN

"The sorrowful are dumb for thee"

"The sad are silent for you"

Lament of Morion Shehone for Miss Mary Bourke

TO
MAUD GONNE

To Maud Gonne

Shemus Rua	A Peasant
Mary	His Wife
Dough	His Son
Aleel	A Poet
The Countess Cathleen
Oona	Her Foster Mother
Two Demons disguised as Merchants
Peasants, Servants, Angelical Beings

The Scene is laid in Ireland and in old times

The story takes place in Ireland during ancient times

SCENE I

Scene.—A room with lighted fire, and a door into the open air, through which one sees, perhaps, the trees of a wood, and these trees should be painted in flat colour upon a gold or diapered sky. The walls are of one colour. The scent should have the effect of missal painting. Mary, a woman of forty years or so, is grinding a quern.

Scene.—A room with a lit fire, and a door leading outside, through which you can see, maybe, the trees of a forest, and these trees should be depicted in solid color against a gold or patterned sky. The walls are a single color. The scent should evoke the feeling of illuminated manuscripts. Mary, a woman around forty, is grinding a grain mill.

MARY

What can have made the grey hen flutter so?

What could have caused the gray hen to flutter like that?

(TEIG, a boy of fourteen, is coming in with turf, which he lays beside the hearth.)

(TEIG, a fourteen-year-old boy, comes in with turf, which he places beside the fireplace.)

TEIG

Dough

They say that now the land is famine struck
The graves are walking.

They say that now the land is dealing with famine
The graves are rising.

MARY

There is something that the hen hears.

The hen hears something.

TEIG

DOUGH

10And that is not the worst; at Tubber-vanach
A woman met a man with ears spread out,
And they moved up and down like a bat's wing.

10And that's not even the worst; at Tubber-vanach
A woman encountered a man with ears that stuck out,
And they flapped up and down like a bat's wing.

MARY

What can have kept your father all this while?

What could be keeping your father all this time?

TEIG

DOUGH

Two nights ago, at Carrick-orus churchyard,
A herdsman met a man who had no mouth,
Nor eyes, nor ears; his face a wall of flesh;
He saw him plainly by the light of the moon.

Two nights ago, at Carrick-orus cemetery,
A herdsman encountered a guy who had no mouth,
Nor eyes, nor ears; his face was just a solid mass of flesh;
He could see him clearly in the moonlight.

MARY

Look out, and tell me if your father's coming.

Look outside and let me know if your dad is on his way.

(TEIG goes to door.)

(TEIG walks to the door.)

TEIG

DOUGH

Mother!

Mom!

MARY

What is it?

TEIG

DOUGH

In the bush beyond,
There are two birds—if you can call them birds—
11I could not see them rightly for the leaves.
But they've the shape and colour of horned owls
And I'm half certain they've a human face.

In the bushes over there,
There are two birds—if you can even call them that—
11I couldn't see them clearly through the leaves.
But they have the shape and color of horned owls
And I'm pretty sure they have a human face.

MARY

Mother of God, defend us!

Oh my God, protect us!

TEIG

Dough

They're looking at me.
What is the good of praying? father says.
God and the Mother of God have dropped asleep.
What do they care, he says, though the whole land
Squeal like a rabbit under a weasel's tooth?

They're looking at me.
What’s the point of praying? Dad says.
God and the Mother of God have fallen asleep.
What do they care, he says, even if the whole country
Screams like a rabbit caught by a weasel?

MARY

You'll bring misfortune with your blasphemies
Upon your father, or yourself, or me.
I would to God he were home—ah, there he is.

You'll bring trouble with your insults
Against your father, yourself, or me.
I wish to God he were home—ah, there he is.

(SHEMUS comes in.)

(SHEMUS enters.)

What was it kept you in the wood? You know
I cannot get all sorts of accidents
Out of my mind till you are home again.

What kept you in the woods? You know
I can't stop worrying about all kinds of accidents
until you’re home again.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I'm in no mood to listen to your clatter.
12Although I tramped the woods for half a day,
I've taken nothing, for the very rats,
Badgers, and hedgehogs seem to have died of drought,
And there was scarce a wind in the parched leaves.

I'm not in the mood to hear your noise.
12Even though I hiked through the woods for half a day,
I haven't caught anything, because even the rats,
Badgers, and hedgehogs seem to have perished from the drought,
And there was hardly any wind in the dry leaves.

TEIG

DOUGH

Then you have brought no dinner.

Then you haven't brought any dinner.

SHEMUS

Shemus

After that
I sat among the beggars at the cross-roads,
And held a hollow hand among the others.

After that
I sat among the homeless at the cross-roads,
And held an empty hand among the others.

MARY

What, did you beg?

What, did you really beg?

SHEMUS

Shemus

I had no chance to beg,
For when the beggars saw me they cried out
They would not have another share their alms,
And hunted me away with sticks and stones.

I didn't have the opportunity to ask for help,
For when the beggars saw me, they shouted out
They didn’t want to share their donations,
And drove me away with sticks and stones.

TEIG

DOUGH

You said that you would bring us food or money.

You said you would bring us food or cash.

SHEMUS

13What's in the house?

What's in the house?

TEIG

A bit of mouldy bread.

A piece of moldy bread.

MARY

There's flour enough to make another loaf.

There's enough flour to make another loaf.

TEIG

And when that's gone?

And when it’s gone?

MARY

There is the hen in the coop.

There’s a chicken in the coop.

SHEMUS

My curse upon the beggars, my curse upon them!

My curse is on the beggars, my curse on them!

TEIG

DOUGH

And the last penny gone.

And the last penny's gone.

SHEMUS

Shemus

When the hen's gone,
What can we do but live on sorrel and dock,
And dandelion, till our mouths are green?

When the chicken's gone,
What can we do but survive on sorrel and dock,
And dandelion, until our mouths are green?

MARY

God, that to this hour's found bit and sup,
14Will cater for us still.

God, that to this hour has provided food and drink,
14Will still take care of us.

SHEMUS

Shemus

His kitchen's bare.
There were five doors that I looked through this day
And saw the dead and not a soul to wake them.

His kitchen is bare.
I looked through five doors today
And saw the dead, with no one to wake them up.

MARY

Maybe He'd have us die because He knows,
When the ear is stopped and when the eye is stopped,
That every wicked sight is hid from the eye,
And all fool talk from the ear.

Maybe He'd have us die because He knows,
When the ear is closed and when the eye is closed,
That every wicked sight is hidden from the eye,
And all foolish talk from the ear.

SHEMUS

Shemus

Who's passing there?
And mocking us with music?

Who's passing by?
And teasing us with music?

(A stringed instrument without.)

A string instrument without.

TEIG

DOUGH

A young man plays it,
There's an old woman and a lady with him.

A young man is playing it.
There's an older woman and a woman with him.

SHEMUS

What is the trouble of the poor to her?
Nothing at all or a harsh radishy sauce
For the day's meat.

What does the suffering of the poor mean to her?
Nothing at all or a tough, spicy sauce
For the day's meal.

MARY

15God's pity on the rich.
Had we been through as many doors, and seen
The dishes standing on the polished wood
In the wax candle light, we'd be as hard,
And there's the needle's eye at the end of all.

15God's grace for the rich.
If we had walked through as many doors and seen
The food laid out on the polished table
In the glow of wax candles, we'd be just as tough,
And there’s the narrow gate at the end of it all.

SHEMUS

Shemus

My curse upon the rich.

My curse on the wealthy.

TEIG

Dough

They're coming here.

They're on their way.

SHEMUS

Then down upon that stool, down quick, I say,
And call up a whey face and a whining voice,
And let your head be bowed upon your knees.

Then sit down on that stool quickly, I say,
And put on a pale face and a whining voice,
And let your head hang down on your knees.

MARY

Had I but time to put the place to rights.

Had I only the time to set things straight.

(CATHLEEN, OONA, and ALEEL enter.)

(CATHLEEN, OONA, and ALEEL enter.)

CATHLEEN

God save all here. There is a certain house,
An old grey castle with a kitchen garden,
A cider orchard and a plot for flowers,
16Somewhere among these woods.

God save everyone here. There’s a certain house,
An old gray castle with a kitchen garden,
An apple orchard and a patch for flowers,
16Somewhere among these woods.

MARY

We know it, lady.
A place that's set among impassable walls
As though world's trouble could not find it out.

We know it, ma'am.
A place that's surrounded by impenetrable walls
As if the troubles of the world couldn't reach it.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

It may be that we are that trouble, for we—
Although we've wandered in the wood this hour—
Have lost it too, yet I should know my way,
For I lived all my childhood in that house.

It might be us who are the problem, because we—
Even though we’ve spent this hour wandering in the woods—
Have lost our way too, yet I should know how to get back,
Since I spent all my childhood in that house.

MARY

Then you are Countess Cathleen?

So you're Countess Cathleen?

CATHLEEN

And this woman,
Oona, my nurse, should have remembered it,
For we were happy for a long time there.

And this lady,
Oona, my nurse, should have remembered it,
For we were happy for a long time there.

OONA

The paths are overgrown with thickets now,
Or else some change has come upon my sight.

The paths are now tangled with bushes,
Or maybe something has changed in what I see.

CATHLEEN

17And this young man, that should have known the woods—
Because we met him on their border but now,
Wandering and singing like a wave of the sea—
Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come
That he can give no help.

17And this young man, who should be familiar with the woods—
Because we encountered him on their edge just now,
Wandering and singing like a rolling wave—
Is so consumed by visions of future horrors
That he can't offer any assistance.

MARY

You have still some way,
But I can put you on the trodden path
Your servants take when they are marketing.
But first sit down and rest yourself awhile,
For my old fathers served your fathers, lady,
Longer than books can tell—and it were strange
If you and yours should not be welcome here.

You still have a little ways to go,
But I can guide you on the path
Your servants use when they’re doing business.
But first, sit down and take a break,
For my ancestors served your ancestors, ma'am,
Longer than words can express—and it would be unusual
If you and your family weren’t welcome here.

CATHLEEN

And it were stranger still were I ungrateful
For such kind welcome—but I must be gone,
For the night's gathering in.

And it would be even stranger if I were ungrateful
For such a warm welcome—but I have to leave,
As the night is closing in.

SHEMUS

It is a long while
Since I've set eyes on bread or on what buys it.

It’s been a while.
Since I've seen bread or had anything to buy it with.

CATHLEEN

So you are starving even in this wood,
18Where I had thought I would find nothing changed.
But that's a dream, for the old worm o' the world
Can eat its way into what place it pleases.

So you're starving even in this forest,
18Where I thought I would find everything the same.
But that's just a fantasy, because the old worm of the world
Can gnaw its way into whatever spot it wants.

(She gives money.)

She donates money.

TEIG

Beautiful lady, give me something too;
I fell but now, being weak with hunger and thirst
And lay upon the threshold like a log.

Beautiful lady, please give me something too;
I’ve collapsed, and now, feeling weak with hunger and thirst
I’m lying on the threshold like a log.

CATHLEEN

I gave for all and that was all I had.
Look, my purse is empty. I have passed
By starving men and women all this day,
And they have had the rest; but take the purse,
The silver clasps on't may be worth a trifle.
But if you'll come to-morrow to my house
You shall have twice the sum.

I gave everything I had, and that's all there was.
Look, my wallet is empty. I've walked past
Starving men and women all day,
And they took what little was left; but take the wallet,
The silver clasps might be worth something.
But if you come to my house tomorrow,
You'll get double the amount.

(ALEEL begins to play.)

(ALEEL starts playing.)

SHEMUS (muttering)

SHEMUS (muttering)

What, music, music!

What a jam!

CATHLEEN

Cathy

Ah, do not blame the finger on the string;
19The doctors bid me fly the unlucky times
And find distraction for my thoughts, or else
Pine to my grave.

Ah, don't blame the finger on the string;
19The doctors told me to escape these unlucky times
And seek distractions for my thoughts, or else
I'd waste away to my grave.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I have said nothing, lady.
Why should the like of us complain?

I haven't said anything, ma'am.
Why should people like us complain?

OONA

Oona

Have done.
Sorrows that she's but read of in a book
Weigh on her mind as if they had been her own.

She's done.
The sorrows she's only read about in a book
Burden her thoughts as if they were her own.

(OONA, MARY, and CATHLEEN go out. ALEEL looks defiantly at SHEMUS.)

(OONA, MARY, and CATHLEEN leave. ALEEL glares at SHEMUS.)

ALEEL (singing)

ALEEL (sings)

Were I but crazy for love's sake
I know who'd measure out his length,
I know the heads that I should break,
For crazy men have double strength.
There! all's out now to leave or take,
And who mocks music mocks at love;
And when I'm crazy for love's sake
I'll not go far to choose.

If I were just crazy for love's sake,
I know who would match his size,
I know which hearts I'd break,
Because crazy people have double strength.
There! It's all out now to accept or reject,
And whoever mocks music mocks love;
And when I'm crazy for love's sake,
I won't look far to choose.

(Snapping his fingers in SHEMUS' face.)

20Enough!
I know the heads that I shall break.

20That's it!
I know whose heads I'm going to smash.

(He takes a step towards the door and then turns again.)

(He takes a step toward the door and then turns again.)

Shut to the door before the night has fallen,
For who can say what walks, or in what shape
Some devilish creature flies in the air, but now
Two grey-horned owls hooted above our heads.

Shut the door before night falls,
For who can tell what roams around, or in what form
Some wicked creature flies in the air, but now
Two grey-horned owls hooted above our heads.

(He goes out, his singing dies away. MARY comes in. SHEMUS has been counting the money.)

(He goes out, his singing fades. MARY enters. SHEMUS has been counting the money.)

SHEMUS

Shemus

So that fool's gone.

So that idiot's gone.

TEIG

DOUGH

He's seen the horned owls too.
There's no good luck in owls, but it may be
That the ill luck's to fall upon his head.

He's seen the horned owls as well.
There's no good luck in owls, but it might be
That the bad luck's about to hit him hard.

MARY

You never thanked her ladyship.

You never thanked her.

SHEMUS

Shemus

Thank her,
For seven halfpence and a silver bit?

Thank her.
For seven halfpennies and a silver coin?

TEIG

21But for this empty purse?

But for this empty wallet?

SHEMUS

Shemus

What's that for thanks,
Or what's the double of it that she promised?
With bread and flesh and every sort of food
Up to a price no man has heard the like of
And rising every day.

What's that for, thanks?
Or what's the amount she promised in return?
With bread, meat, and all kinds of food
At a price no one has ever heard of
And increasing every day.

MARY

We have all she had;
She emptied out the purse before our eyes.

We took all she had;
She poured the contents of her purse out in front of us.

SHEMUS (to MARY, who has gone to close the door)

SHEMUS (to MARY, who is closing the door)

Leave that door open.

Keep that door open.

MARY

When those that have read books,
And seen the seven wonders of the world,
Fear what's above or what's below the ground,
It's time that poverty should bolt the door.

When people who have read books, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__,
And seen the seven wonders of the world,
Fear what’s above or what’s below the ground,
It’s time for poverty to lock the door.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I'll have no bolts, for there is not a thing
That walks above the ground or under it
I had not rather welcome to this house
22Than any more of mankind, rich or poor.

I'll have no bolts, because there's nothing
That walks above ground or below it
I would rather welcome to this house
22Than any more of humanity, rich or poor.

TEIG

DOUGH

So that they brought us money.

They brought us cash.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I heard say
There's something that appears like a white bird,
A pigeon or a seagull or the like,
But if you hit it with a stone or a stick
It clangs as though it had been made of brass,
And that if you dig down where it was scratching
You'll find a crock of gold.

I heard.
There's something that looks like a white bird,
A pigeon or a seagull or something similar,
But if you hit it with a stone or a stick
It makes a sound like it's made of brass,
And if you dig where it was scratching
You'll find a pot of gold.

TEIG

DOUGH

But dream of gold
For three nights running, and there's always gold.

But dream of riches
For three nights in a row, and there's always gold.

SHEMUS

You might be starved before you've dug it out.

You might be really hungry before you find it.

TEIG

But maybe if you called, something would come,
They have been seen of late.

But maybe if you called, something would happen,
They've been seen around lately.

MARY

Is it call devils?
23Call devils from the wood, call them in here?

Is that summoning demons?
23Call devils from the woods, bring them in here?

SHEMUS

Shemus

So you'd stand up against me, and you'd say
Who or what I am to welcome here. (He hits her.)
That is to show who's master.

So you'd confront me and say
Who or what I am to be here. (He hits her.)
That's to demonstrate who's in charge.

TEIG

DOUGH

Call them in.

Call them over.

MARY

God help us all!

SHEMUS

Pray, if you have a mind to.
It's little that the sleepy ears above
Care for your words; but I'll call what I please.

Feel free to proceed if you'd like.
The drowsy ears above
Don't really care about what you say; but I'll say what I want.

TEIG

There is many a one, they say, had money from them.

There are many people, they say, who got money from them.

SHEMUS (at door)

SHEMUS (at the door)

Whatever you are that walk the woods at night,
So be it that you have not shouldered up
Out of a grave—for I'll have nothing human—
And have free hands, a friendly trick of speech,
I welcome you. Come, sit beside the fire.
24What matter if your head's below your arms
Or you've a horse's tail to whip your flank,
Feathers instead of hair, that's but a straw,
Come, share what bread and meat is in the house,
And stretch your heels and warm them in the ashes.
And after that, let's share and share alike
And curse all men and women. Come in, come in.
What, is there no one there? (Turning from door)
And yet they say
They are as common as the grass, and ride
Even upon the book in the priest's hand.

Whoever you are that roam the woods at night,
As long as you haven't crawled out of a grave—
I want nothing human—
With your hands free and a friendly way of speaking,
I welcome you. Come, sit by the fire.
24What does it matter if your head's under your arms
Or you have a horse's tail to swat your back,
Feathers instead of hair, that's just nothing,
Come, share the bread and meat in the house,
And stretch out your feet and warm them in the ashes.
And after that, let's split everything
And curse all men and women. Come in, come in.
What, is no one there? (Turning from door)
And still, they say
They are as common as the grass, and ride
Even on the book in the priest's hand.

(TEIG lifts one arm slowly and points toward the door and begins moving backwards. SHEMUS turns, he also sees something and begins moving backward. MARY does the same. A man dressed as an Eastern merchant comes in carrying a small carpet. He unrolls it and sits cross-legged at one end of it. Another man dressed in the same way follows, and sits at the other end. This is done slowly and deliberately. When they are seated they take money out of embroidered purses at their girdles and begin arranging it on the carpet.)

(TEIG raises one arm slowly and points toward the door, then starts moving backward. SHEMUS turns, notices something as well, and begins moving backward. MARY follows suit. A man dressed like an Eastern merchant enters carrying a small carpet. He unrolls it and sits cross-legged at one end. Another man dressed similarly enters and sits at the opposite end. They perform these actions slowly and intentionally. Once seated, they pull out money from embroidered purses at their waist and begin arranging it on the carpet.)

TEIG

Dough

25You speak to them.

You talk to them.

SHEMUS

Shemus

No, you.

TEIG

DOUGH

'Twas you that called them.

It was you who called them.

SHEMUS (coming nearer)

SHEMUS (walking closer)

I'd make so bold, if you would pardon it,
To ask if there's a thing you'd have of us.
Although we are but poor people, if there is,
Why, if there is——

I'd be bold enough, if you don't mind,
To ask if there's anything you need from us.
Although we are just simple folks, if there is,
Well, if there is——

FIRST MERCHANT

We've travelled a long road,
For we are merchants that must tramp the world,
And now we look for supper and a fire
And a safe corner to count money in.

We've made great progress,
Because we’re traders who have to wander the globe,
And now we’re looking for dinner and a fire
And a safe spot to count our money.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I thought you were ... but that's no matter now—
There had been words between my wife and me
Because I said I would be master here,
And ask in what I pleased or who I pleased
And so.... but that is nothing to the point,
26Because it's certain that you are but merchants.

I thought you were ... but that doesn't matter now—
There had been arguments between my wife and me
Because I said I would be in charge here,
And I could ask whoever I wanted or whatever I wanted
And so.... but that's not the main issue,
26Because it's clear that you are just merchants.

FIRST MERCHANT

We travel for the Master of all merchants.

SHEMUS

Shemus

Yet if you were that I had thought but now
I'd welcome you no less. Be what you please
And you'll have supper at the market rate,
That means that what was sold for but a penny
Is now worth fifty.

Yet if you were who I thought, I’d still welcome you. Be who you want, and you’ll have dinner for the usual price, which means what used to sell for just a penny is now worth fifty.

(MERCHANTS begin putting money on carpet.)

(MERCHANTS start placing money on carpet.)

FIRST MERCHANT

Our Master bids us pay
So good a price, that all who deal with us
Shall eat, drink, and be merry.

Our Master asks us to pay
Such a great price that everyone who works with us
Will eat, drink, and be happy.

SHEMUS (to MARY)

Bestir yourself,
Go kill and draw the fowl, while Teig and I
Lay out the plates and make a better fire.

Let's go,
Go hunt and prepare the bird, while Teig and I
Set the table and build a better fire.

MARY

I will not cook for you.

I'm not cooking for you.

SHEMUS

Shemus

27Not cook! not cook!
Do not be angry. She wants to pay me back
Because I struck her in that argument.
But she'll get sense again. Since the dearth came
We rattle one on another as though we were
Knives thrown into a basket to be cleaned.

27Not cooking! Not cooking!
Don't be mad. She wants to make it right with me
Because I hit her during that fight.
But she’ll come to her senses again. Ever since the shortage hit
We clash against each other as if we were
Knives tossed into a basket to be washed.

MARY

I will not cook for you, because I know
In what unlucky shape you sat but now
Outside this door.

I won't cook for you because I know
How unfortunate you looked sitting outside
This door.

TEIG

DOUGH

It's this, your honours:
Because of some wild words my father said
She thinks you are not of those who cast a shadow.

Here it is, your honors:
Because of some crazy things my dad said
She believes you aren't the type to cast a shadow.

SHEMUS

Shemus

I said I'd make the devils of the wood
Welcome, if they'd a mind to eat and drink;
But it is certain that you are men like us.

I said I'd welcome the spirits of the woods
If they wanted to eat and drink;
But it’s clear that you are just like us.

FIRST MERCHANT

It's strange that she should think we cast no shadow,
For there is nothing on the ridge of the world
That's more substantial than the merchants are
28That buy and sell you.

It's odd that she thinks we don't cast a shadow,
Because there's nothing on the edge of the world
That's more solid than the merchants are
28Who buy and sell you.

MARY

If you are not demons,
And seeing what great wealth is spread out there,
Give food or money to the starving poor.

If you’re not cold-hearted,
And noticing how much wealth is out there,
Help the starving poor with food or money.

FIRST MERCHANT

FIRST VENDOR

If we knew how to find deserving poor
We'd do our share.

If we knew how to find those truly in need
We'd do our part.

MARY

But seek them patiently.

But look for them patiently.

FIRST MERCHANT

We know the evils of mere charity.

We understand the problems with just giving charity.

MARY

Those scruples may befit a common time.
I had thought there was a pushing to and fro,
At times like this, that overset the scale
And trampled measure down.

Those doubts might be appropriate for ordinary times.
I had believed there was a back-and-forth,
During moments like this, that tipped the balance
And crushed any sense of order.

FIRST MERCHANT

But if already
29We'd thought of a more prudent way than that?

But if already
29Did we really think there was a better way to handle this?

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

If each one brings a bit of merchandise,
We'll give him such a price he never dreamt of.

If everyone brings a little something to sell,
We’ll give them a price they never imagined.

MARY

Where shall the starving come at merchandise?

Where will the starving find goods to buy?

FIRST MERCHANT

We will ask nothing but what all men have.

We will ask for nothing more than what everyone has.

MARY

Their swine and cattle, fields and implements
Are sold and gone.

Their pigs and cattle, fields and tools
Are sold and gone.

FIRST MERCHANT

They have not sold all yet.
For there's a vaporous thing—that may be nothing,
But that's the buyer's risk—a second self,
They call immortal for a story's sake.

They still haven't sold everything.
Because there's this hazy thing—that might be nothing,
But that's the buyer's gamble—a second self,
They call it immortal just for the story.

SHEMUS

They come to buy our souls?

TEIG

I'll barter mine.
30Why should we starve for what may be but nothing?

I'll swap what I have.
30Why should we go hungry for something that might turn out to be nothing?

MARY

Teig and Shemus——

Teig and Shemus -

SHEMUS

Shemus

What can it be but nothing?
What has God poured out of His bag but famine?
Satan gives money.

What else could it be but nothing?
What has God released from His bag but starvation?
Satan provides wealth.

TEIG

Yet no thunder stirs.

Yet no thunder moves.

FIRST MERCHANT

There is a heap for each.

There is a pile for each.

(SHEMUS goes to take money.)

(SHEMUS goes to get money.)

But no, not yet,
For there's a work I have to set you to.

But not yet.
Because there's a task I need to assign to you.

SHEMUS

Shemus

So then you're as deceitful as the rest,
And all that talk of buying what's but a vapour
Is fancy bread. I might have known as much,
Because that's how the trick-o'-the-loop man talks.

So you're just as dishonest as everyone else,
And all that talk about buying something that's just a vapor
Is just a fanciful distraction. I should have figured that out,
Because that's how a con artist speaks.

FIRST MERCHANT

That's for the work, each has its separate price;
31But neither price is paid till the work's done.

That's for the work; each has its own price;
31But no price is paid until the work is completed.

TEIG

DOUGH

The same for me.

Same here.

MARY

Oh, God, why are you still?

Oh, God, why are you waiting?

FIRST MERCHANT

You've but to cry aloud at every cross-road,
At every house door, that we buy men's souls.
And give so good a price that all may live
In mirth and comfort till the famine's done,
Because we are Christian men.

You just have to shout out at every intersection,
At every front door, that we buy people's souls.
And offer such a good price that everyone can live
In joy and comfort until the famine is over,
Because we are Christian people.

SHEMUS

Shemus

Come, let's away.

Let's go.

TEIG

DOUGH

I shall keep running till I've earned the price.

I will keep running until I've earned the reward.

SECOND MERCHANT

(who has risen and gone towards fire)

(who has gotten up and gone towards the fire)

Stop; you must have proof behind the words.
So here's your entertainment on the road.

Stop; you need to have proof behind your words.
So here’s your entertainment while you travel.

(He throws a bag of money on the ground.)

(He tosses a bag of cash onto the ground.)

Live as you please; our Master's generous.

Live however you want; our Master is generous.

(TEIG and SHEMUS have stopped. TEIG takes the money. They go out.)

(TEIG and SHEMUS have paused. TEIG takes the money. They leave.)

MARY

Destroyers of souls, God will destroy you quickly.
You shall at last dry like dry leaves and hang
Nailed like dead vermin to the doors of God.

Destroyers of souls, God will wipe you out fast.
You will finally wither like dry leaves and be
Nailed like dead pests to the doors of God.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Curse to your fill, for saints will have their dreams.

Curse all you want, because saints will have their dreams.

FIRST MERCHANT

Though we're but vermin that our Master sent
To overrun the world, he at the end
Shall pull apart the pale ribs of the moon
And quench the stars in the ancestral night.

Though we're just pests that our Master sent
To take over the world, in the end
He will tear apart the pale ribs of the moon
And extinguish the stars in the ancient night.

MARY

God is all powerful.

God is omnipotent.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Pray, you shall need Him.
You shall eat dock and grass, and dandelion,
Till that low threshold there becomes a wall,
And when your hands can scarcely drag your body
We shall be near you.

You will need Him.
You will eat dock and grass, and dandelion,
Until that low threshold becomes a wall,
And when your hands can barely pull your body
We will be close to you.

(MARY faints.)

(The FIRST MERCHANT takes up the carpet, spreads it before the fire and stands in front of it warming his hands.)

(The FIRST MERCHANT picks up the carpet, lays it out in front of the fire, and stands there warming his hands.)

FIRST MERCHANT

Our faces go unscratched,
Wring the neck o' that fowl, scatter the flour
And look if there is bread upon the shelves.
We'll turn the fowl upon the spit and roast it,
And eat the supper we were bidden to,
Now that the house is quiet, praise our Master,
And stretch and warm our heels among the ashes.

Our faces remain unhurt,
Grab that bird, toss the flour
And see if there’s any bread left on the shelves.
We’ll put the bird on the spit and roast it,
And enjoy the dinner we were invited to,
Now that the house is calm, let’s thank our Master,
And relax and warm our feet by the fire.

END OF SCENE I.

SCENE II

FRONT SCENE.—A wood with perhaps distant view of turreted house at one side, but all in flat colour, without light and shade and against a diapered or gold background.

FRONT SCENE.—A forest with a possible distant view of a turreted house on one side, but everything is in flat color, without light and shadow, set against a patterned or gold background.

COUNTESS CATHLEEN comes in leaning upon ALEEL'S arm. OONA follows them.

COUNTESS CATHLEEN enters leaning on ALEEL'S arm. OONA follows them.

CATHLEEN (stopping)

CATHLEEN (stopping)

Surely this leafy corner, where one smells
The wild bee's honey, has a story too?

Surely this green spot, where you can smell
The wild bee's honey, has a story too?

OONA

There is the house at last.

There’s the house finally.

ALEEL

A man, they say,
Loved Maeve the Queen of all the invisible host,
And died of his love nine centuries ago.
And now, when the moon's riding at the full,
38She leaves her dancers lonely and lies there
Upon that level place, and for three days
Stretches and sighs and wets her long pale cheeks.

They say a guy
Loved Maeve, the Queen of all the unseen spirits,
And he died of that love nine centuries ago.
And now, when the moon is full,
38She leaves her dancers alone and rests there
On that flat ground, and for three days
Stretches and sighs, letting her long pale tears fall.

CATHLEEN

So she loves truly.

So she loves genuinely.

ALEEL

No, but wets her cheeks,
Lady, because she has forgot his name.

No, but she moistens her cheeks,
Lady, because she's forgotten his name.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

She'd sleep that trouble away—though it must be
A heavy trouble to forget his name—
If she had better sense.

She'd sleep that problem away—though it must be
A tough problem to forget his name—
If she had more common sense.

OONA

Your own house, lady.

Your own house, ma'am.

ALEEL

She sleeps high up on wintry Knock-na-rea
In an old cairn of stones; while her poor women
Must lie and jog in the wave if they would sleep—
Being water born—yet if she cry their names
They run up on the land and dance in the moon
Till they are giddy and would love as men do,
39And be as patient and as pitiful.
But there is nothing that will stop in their heads
They've such poor memories, though they weep for it.
Oh, yes, they weep; that's when the moon is full.

She sleeps high up on wintry Knock-na-rea
In an old pile of stones; while her poor women
Must lie and jolt in the waves if they want to sleep—
Being born of water—yet if she calls their names
They rush onto the land and dance in the moonlight
Until they’re dizzy and love like men do,
39And are as patient and as sorrowful.
But there’s nothing that stays in their minds
They have such poor memories, even though they weep for it.
Oh, yes, they weep; that’s when the moon is full.

CATHLEEN

Is it because they have short memories
They live so long?

Is it because they have short memories
That they live so long?

ALEEL

What's memory but the ash
That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
And they've a dizzy, everlasting fire.

What is memory but the remains?
That smothers our flames that are starting to fade?
And they have a dizzy, eternal fire.

OONA

There is your own house, lady.

Here’s your house, ma’am.

CATHLEEN

Why, that's true,
And we'd have passed it without noticing.

That's correct,
And we would have gone by it without realizing.

ALEEL

A curse upon it for a meddlesome house!
Had it but stayed away I would have known
40What Queen Maeve thinks on when the moon is pinched;
And whether now—as in the old days—the dancers
Set their brief love on men.

A pox on this nosy house!
If it had just stayed away, I would have understood
40What Queen Maeve thinks about when the moon is thin;
And whether now—as in the past—the dancers
Have their fleeting love for men.

OONA

Rest on my arm.
These are no thoughts for any Christian ear.

Lay on my arm.
These thoughts aren't meant for any Christian.

ALEEL

I am younger, she would be too heavy for you.

I’m younger, she would be too much for you.

(He begins taking his lute out of the bag, CATHLEEN, who has turned towards OONA, turns back to him.)

(He starts to take his lute out of the bag, CATHLEEN, who has turned towards OONA, turns back to him.)

This hollow box remembers every foot
That danced upon the level grass of the world,
And will tell secrets if I whisper to it.

This empty box remembers every step
That danced on the flat grass of the world,
And will share secrets if I whisper to it.

(Sings.)

Lift up the white knee;
Hear what they sing,
Those young dancers
That in a ring
Raved but now
Of the hearts that brake
Long, long ago
41For their sake.

Lift up the white knee;
Listen to what they sing,
Those young dancers
In a circle
Who once raved
About the hearts that broke
A long time ago
41For their sake.

OONA

Oona

New friends are sweet.

New friends are awesome.

ALEEL

"But the dance changes.
Lift up the gown,
All that sorrow
Is trodden down."

"But the dance changes.
Lift up the dress,
All that sadness
Is stepped on."

OONA

Oona

The empty rattle-pate! Lean on this arm,
That I can tell you is a christened arm,
And not like some, if we are to judge by speech.
But as you please. It is time I was forgot.
Maybe it is not on this arm you slumbered
When you were as helpless as a worm.

The empty-headed fool! Lean on this arm,
Which I can assure you is a legitimate arm,
And not like some, if we’re going by what they say.
But do what you want. It’s time I was forgotten.
Maybe it wasn’t on this arm you rested
When you were as defenseless as a worm.

ALEEL

Stay with me till we come to your own house.

Stay with me until we get to your house.

CATHLEEN (sitting down)

CATHLEEN (sits down)

When I am rested I will need no help.

When I’m well-rested, I won’t need any help.

ALEEL

42I thought to have kept her from remembering
The evil of the times for full ten minutes;
But now when seven are out you come between.

42I thought I could keep her from remembering
The troubles of those times for a full ten minutes;
But now that seven are out, you step in.

OONA

Talk on; what does it matter what you say,
For you have not been christened?

Talk away; what does it matter what you say,
Since you haven't been baptized?

ALEEL

Old woman, old woman,
You robbed her of three minutes peace of mind,
And though you live unto a hundred years,
And wash the feet of beggars and give alms,
And climb Croaghpatrick, you shall not be pardoned.

Elderly woman, elderly woman,
You took away her three minutes of peace,
And even if you live to be a hundred,
And wash the feet of beggars and give to charity,
And climb Croagh Patrick, you won’t be forgiven.

OONA

How does a man who never was baptized
Know what Heaven pardons?

How does a man who was never baptized
Know what Heaven forgives?

ALEEL

You are a sinful woman.

You're a sinful woman.

OONA

Oona

I care no more than if a pig had grunted.

I couldn't care less than if a pig had grunted.

(Enter CATHLEEN'S Steward.)

STEWARD

I am not to blame, for I had locked the gate,
The forester's to blame. The men climbed in
At the east corner where the elm-tree is.

I’m not at fault because I had locked the gate,
The forester is to blame. The guys snuck in
At the southeast corner where the elm tree stands.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

I do not understand you, who has climbed?

I don’t understand you, who has climbed?

STEWARD

SERVER

Then God be thanked, I am the first to tell you.
I was afraid some other of the servants—
Though I've been on the watch—had been the first,
And mixed up truth and lies, your ladyship.

Then thank God, I'm the first to tell you.
I was worried that one of the other servants—
Even though I've been keeping an eye out—might have been the first,
And gotten truth and lies all mixed up, your ladyship.

CATHLEEN (rising)

CATHLEEN (standing up)

Has some misfortune happened?

Has something bad happened?

STEWARD

SERVER

Yes, indeed.
The forester that let the branches lie
Against the wall's to blame for everything,
For that is how the rogues got into the garden.

Absolutely.
The forester who left the branches lying
Against the wall is responsible for it all,
Because that's how the troublemakers got into the garden.

CATHLEEN

I thought to have escaped misfortune here.
44Has any one been killed?

I thought I had escaped bad luck here.
44Has anyone been killed?

STEWARD

Oh, no, not killed.
They have stolen half a cart-load of green cabbage.

Oh, no, not dead.
They’ve stolen half a cartload of green cabbage.

CATHLEEN

But maybe they were starving.

But maybe they were hungry.

STEWARD

That is certain.
To rob or starve, that was the choice they had.

That's for sure.
To steal or go hungry, that was the choice they faced.

CATHLEEN

A learned theologian has laid down
That starving men may take what's necessary,
And yet be sinless.

A knowledgeable theologian has stated
That starving people can take what's necessary,
And still be guiltless.

OONA

Oona

Sinless and a thief!
There should be broken bottles on the wall.

Innocent and a crook!
There should be shattered bottles on the wall.

CATHLEEN

And if it be a sin, while faith's unbroken
God cannot help but pardon. There is no soul
But it's unlike all others in the world,
45Nor one but lifts a strangeness to God's love
Till that's grown infinite, and therefore none
Whose loss were less than irremediable
Although it were the wickedest in the world.

And if it's a sin, as long as faith remains unshaken,
God can't help but forgive. Every soul
Is different from all others in the world,
45And each one brings a uniqueness to God's love
Until that love becomes boundless, so no one
Would be lost in a way that cannot be fixed,
Even if they were the most wicked person in the world.

(Enter TEIG and SHEMUS.)

STEWARD

What are you running for? Pull off your cap,
Do you not see who's there?

What are you running for? Take off your cap,
Can't you see who's there?

SHEMUS

Shemus

I cannot wait.
I am running to the world with the best news
That has been brought it for a thousand years.

I can't wait!
I'm rushing into the world with the best news
That has come in a thousand years.

STEWARD

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

Then get your breath and speak.

Then take a moment to catch your breath and talk.

SHEMUS

If you'd my news
You'd run as fast and be as out of breath.

If you heard my news
You'd run as fast and be just as breathless.

TEIG

DOUGH

Such news, we shall be carried on men's shoulders.

Such news, we'll be carried on men's shoulders.

SHEMUS

Shemus

46There's something every man has carried with him
And thought no more about than if it were
A mouthful of the wind; and now it's grown
A marketable thing!

46There's something every man has carried with him
And thought no more about than if it were
A mouthful of wind; and now it's become
A valuable item!

TEIG

Dough

And yet it seemed
As useless as the paring of one's nails.

And yet, it appeared
As pointless as trimming your nails.

SHEMUS

Shemus

What sets me laughing when I think of it,
Is that a rogue who's lain in lousy straw,
If he but sell it, may set up his coach.

What makes me laugh when I think about it,
Is that a scoundrel who's been sleeping on dirty straw,
If he just sells it, can afford to buy a fancy carriage.

TEIG (laughing)

TEIG (laughing)

There are two gentlemen who buy men's souls.

There are two guys who buy men's souls.

CATHLEEN

O God!

Oh God!

TEIG

DOUGH

And maybe there's no soul at all.

And maybe there isn’t a soul at all.

STEWARD

47They're drunk or mad.

They're drunk or crazy.

TEIG

DOUGH

Look at the price they give.

Look at the price they're offering.

(Showing money.)

(Flexing cash.)

SHEMUS (tossing up money)

SHEMUS (throwing up cash)

"Go cry it all about the world," they said.
"Money for souls, good money for a soul."

"Go tell everyone how you feel," they said.
"Money for souls, good money for a soul."

CATHLEEN

Give twice and thrice and twenty times their money,
And get your souls again. I will pay all.

Give twice, thrice, or even twenty times their money,
And reclaim your souls. I'll cover everything.

SHEMUS

Not we! not we! For souls—if there are souls—
But keep the flesh out of its merriment.
I shall be drunk and merry.

Not us! Not us! For souls—if there are souls—
But keep the flesh from its enjoyment.
I’ll be drunk and happy.

TEIG

Come, let's away.

Let's go.

(He goes.)

He’s leaving.

CATHLEEN

But there's a world to come.

But there’s a future coming.

SHEMUS

Shemus

And if there is,
48I'd rather trust myself into the hands
That can pay money down than to the hands
That have but shaken famine from the bag.

And if there is,
48I'd rather rely on those
Who can hand over cash than on those
Who have only shaken out emptiness.

(He goes out R.)

He goes out.

(Lilting)

"There's money for a soul, sweet yellow money.
There's money for men's souls, good money, money."

"There's cash for a soul, sweet yellow cash.
There's cash for men's souls, good cash, cash."

CATHLEEN (to ALEEL)

Go call them here again, bring them by force,
Beseech them, bribe, do anything you like;

Go get them back here again, bring them if you have to,
Plead with them, offer them something, do whatever it takes;

(ALEEL goes.)

(ALEEL leaves.)

And you too follow, add your prayers to his.

And you should join in, adding your prayers to his.

(OONA, who has been praying, goes out.)

(OONA, who has been praying, steps outside.)

Steward, you know the secrets of my house.
How much have I?

Steward, you know the secrets of my home.
How much do I have?

STEWARD

A hundred kegs of gold.

A hundred barrels of gold.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

How much have I in castles?

How many castles do I have?

STEWARD

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

49As much more.

As much more.

CATHLEEN

How much have I in pasture?

How much pasture do I have?

STEWARD

SERVE

As much more.

CATHLEEN

How much have I in forests?

How much do I have in forests?

STEWARD

Attendant

As much more.

Much more.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

Keeping this house alone, sell all I have,
Go barter where you please, but come again
With herds of cattle and with ships of meal.

Keeping this house by myself, selling everything I own,
Go trade wherever you want, but come back
With herds of cattle and ships full of food.

STEWARD

ATTENDANT

God's blessing light upon your ladyship.
You will have saved the land.

God's blessing shines upon you, my lady.
You will have saved the land.

CATHLEEN

Make no delay.

Don't wait.

(He goes L.)

(He goes L.)

(ALEEL and OONA return)

(ALEEL and OONA return)

CATHLEEN

They have not come; speak quickly.

They haven't shown up; hurry.

ALEEL

One drew his knife
And said that he would kill the man or woman
That stopped his way; and when I would have stopped him
He made this stroke at me; but it is nothing.

One pulled out his knife.
And said he would kill anyone
Who got in his way; and when I tried to stop him
He swung at me; but it didn’t hurt.

CATHLEEN

You shall be tended. From this day for ever
I'll have no joy or sorrow of my own.

You will be taken care of. From now on, I won’t have any happiness or sadness of my own.

OONA

Their eyes shone like the eyes of birds of prey.

Their eyes sparkled like those of birds of prey.

CATHLEEN

Come, follow me, for the earth burns my feet
Till I have changed my house to such a refuge
That the old and ailing, and all weak of heart,
May escape from beak and claw; all, all, shall come
Till the walls burst and the roof fall on us.
From this day out I have nothing of my own.

Come, follow me, because the ground is burning my feet
Until I turn my home into a safe place
Where the old and sick, and everyone who's feeling weak,
Can escape from danger; everyone, everyone, will come
Until the walls break and the roof crashes down on us.
From this day forward, I own nothing.

(She goes.)

She’s leaving.

OONA (taking ALEEL by the arm and as she speaks bandaging his wound)

OONA (taking ALEEL by the arm and as she speaks wrapping his wound)

She has found something now to put her hand to,
And you and I are of no more account
Than flies upon a window-pane in the winter.

She has found something to focus on now,
And you and I matter no more
Than flies on a windowpane in the winter.

(They go out.)

They go out.

END OF SCENE II.

SCENE III

Scene.—Hall in the house of Countess Cathleen. At the Left an oratory with steps leading up to it. At the Right a tapestried wall, more or less repeating the form of the oratory, and a great chair with its back against the wall. In the Centre are two or more arches through which one can see dimly the trees of the garden. Cathleen is kneeling in front of the altar in the oratory; there is a hanging lighted lamp over the altar. Aleel enters.

Scene.—Hall in the home of Countess Cathleen. On the left, there is an oratory with steps leading up to it. On the right, a tapestry-covered wall that somewhat resembles the shape of the oratory, and a large chair back against the wall. In the center, there are two or more arches allowing a glimpse of the trees in the garden. Cathleen is kneeling in front of the altar in the oratory; there is a hanging, lit lamp above the altar. Aleel enters.

ALEEL

I have come to bid you leave this castle and fly
Out of these woods.

I'm here to tell you to leave this castle and get out of these woods.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

What evil is there here
That is not everywhere from this to the sea?

What evil is here?
That isn’t found everywhere from here to the sea?

ALEEL

They who have sent me walk invisible.

They who sent me are unseen.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

So it is true what I have heard men say,
56That you have seen and heard what others cannot.

So it's true what I've heard guys say,
56That you have seen and heard things that others can't.

ALEEL

I was asleep in my bed, and while I slept
My dream became a fire; and in the fire
One walked and he had birds about his head.

I was asleep in my bed, and while I slept
My dream turned into a fire; and in the fire
Someone walked, and there were birds around his head.

CATHLEEN

I have heard that one of the old gods walked so.

I’ve heard that one of the ancient gods walked like that.

ALEEL

It may be that he is angelical;
And, lady, he bids me call you from these woods.
And you must bring but your old foster-mother,
And some few serving men, and live in the hills,
Among the sounds of music and the light
Of waters, till the evil days are done.
For here some terrible death is waiting you,
Some unimagined evil, some great darkness
That fable has not dreamt of, nor sun nor moon
Scattered.

He might be like an angel;
And, lady, he tells me to bring you out of these woods.
You only need to bring your old nurse,
And a few servants, and we’ll live in the hills,
Surrounded by music and the light
Of flowing water, until the bad times are over.
Because here some terrible death is waiting for you,
Some unimaginable evil, some great darkness
That even stories haven’t dreamed of, nor has the sun or moon
Shined on.

CATHLEEN

No, not angelical.

No, not angelic.

ALEEL

This house
57You are to leave with some old trusty man,
And bid him shelter all that starve or wander
While there is food and house room.

CATHLEEN

He bids me go
Where none of mortal creatures but the swan
Dabbles, and there you would pluck the harp, when the trees
Had made a heavy shadow about our door,
And talk among the rustling of the reeds,
When night hunted the foolish sun away
With stillness and pale tapers. No—no—no!
I cannot. Although I weep, I do not weep
Because that life would be most happy, and here
I find no way, no end. Nor do I weep
Because I had longed to look upon your face,
But that a night of prayer has made me weary.

ALEEL (prostrating himself before her)

Let Him that made mankind, the angels and devils
And dearth and plenty, mend what He has made,
For when we labour in vain and eye still sees
Heart breaks in vain.

He wants me to go
Where no mortal creatures but the swan
Splash around, and there you would play the harp when the trees
Cast a heavy shadow at our door,
And chat among the rustling reeds,
When night chased the foolish sun away
With silence and pale lights. No—no—no!
I can't. Even though I cry, I don't cry
Because life would be so happy, and here
I find no way, no end. Nor do I cry
Because I've longed to see your face,
But because a night of prayer has made me tired.

ALEEL (bowing down before her)

Let Him who created mankind, the angels and devils
And scarcity and abundance, fix what He has made,
For when we work in vain and our eyes still watch,
Hearts break in vain.

CATHLEEN

58How would that quiet end?

How would that quiet finish?

ALEEL

How but in healing?

How to heal?

CATHLEEN

You have seen my tears
And I can see your hand shake on the floor.

You've seen me cry
And I can see your hand trembling on the ground.

ALEEL (faltering)

ALEEL (struggling)

I thought but of healing. He was angelical.

I only thought about healing. He was like an angel.

CATHLEEN (turning away from him)

No, not angelical, but of the old gods,
Who wander about the world to waken the heart—
The passionate, proud heart—that all the angels,
Leaving nine heavens empty, would rock to sleep.

No, not angelic, but from the ancient gods,
Who roam the earth to stir the heart—
The passionate, proud heart—that all the angels,
Leaving nine heavens empty, would lull to sleep.

(She goes to chapel door; ALEEL holds his clasped hands towards her for a moment hesitatingly, and then lets them fall beside him.)

(She goes to the chapel door; ALEEL holds his clasped hands out toward her for a moment, hesitating, and then lets them fall beside him.)

CATHLEEN

Do not hold out to me beseeching hands.
This heart shall never waken on earth. I have sworn,
By her whose heart the seven sorrows have pierced,
59To pray before this altar until my heart
Has grown to Heaven like a tree, and there
Rustled its leaves, till Heaven has saved my people.

Do not offer me pleading hands.
This heart will never awaken on this earth. I have sworn,
By the one whose heart the seven sorrows have pierced,
59To pray before this altar until my heart
Grows to Heaven like a tree, and there
Rustles its leaves, until Heaven saves my people.

ALEEL (who has risen)

When one so great has spoken of love to one
So little as I, though to deny him love,
What can he but hold out beseeching hands,
Then let them fall beside him, knowing how greatly
They have overdared?

When someone so great has talked about love to someone
So small as I, even if I deny him love,
What can he do but reach out with pleading hands,
Then let them drop beside him, knowing how much
They have overstepped?

(He goes towards the door of the hall. The COUNTESS CATHLEEN takes a few steps towards him.)

(He walks toward the hall door. The COUNTESS CATHLEEN takes a few steps toward him.)

CATHLEEN

If the old tales are true,
Queens have wed shepherds and kings beggar-maids;
God's procreant waters flowing about your mind
Have made you more than kings or queens; and not you
But I am the empty pitcher.

If the old stories are accurate,
Queens have married shepherds and kings have taken beggar-maids;
God's creative waters flowing around your thoughts
Have made you greater than kings or queens; and not you
But I am the empty pitcher.

ALEEL

Being silent,
60I have said all, yet let me stay beside you.

Stay quiet,
60I’ve said everything, but please allow me to remain by your side.

CATHLEEN

No, no, not while my heart is shaken. No,
But you shall hear wind cry and water cry,
And curlew cry, and have the peace I longed for.

No, no, not while my heart is unsettled. No,
But you will hear the wind wail and the water weep,
And the curlew call, and find the peace I've been wishing for.

ALEEL

Give me your hand to kiss.

CATHLEEN

I kiss your forehead.
And yet I send you from me. Do not speak;
There have been women that bid men to rob
Crowns from the Country-under-Wave or apples
Upon a dragon-guarded hill, and all
That they might sift men's hearts and wills,
And trembled as they bid it, as I tremble
That lay a hard task on you, that you go,
And silently, and do not turn your head;
Goodbye; but do not turn your head and look;
Above all else, I would not have you look.

I kiss your forehead.
Yet I send you away from me. Don't say a word;
There have been women who told men to steal
Crowns from the Country-under-Wave or apples
From a hill guarded by dragons, all
To test men's hearts and will,
And they trembled as they asked it, just as I tremble
To give you this hard task, that you go,
And silently, without turning back;
Goodbye; but please don’t turn your head to look;
Above all else, I don’t want you to look.

(ALEEL goes.)

(ALEEL leaves.)

I never spoke to him of his wounded hand,
And now he is gone. (She looks out.)
61I cannot see him, for all is dark outside.
Would my imagination and my heart
Were as little shaken as this holy flame!

I never talked to him about his injured hand,
And now he’s gone. (She looks out.)
61I can’t see him, because everything outside is dark.
I wish my imagination and my heart
Were as steady as this sacred flame!

(She goes slowly into the chapel. The distant sound of an alarm bell. The two MERCHANTS enter hurriedly.)

(She walks slowly into the chapel. The distant sound of an alarm bell. The two MERCHANTS rush in.)

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

They are ringing the alarm, and in a moment
They'll be upon us.

They are sounding the alarm, and soon enough
They'll be here.

FIRST MERCHANT (going to a door at the side)

FIRST MERCHANT (heading to a door on the side)

Here is the Treasury,
You'd my commands to put them all to sleep.

Here’s the Treasury,
You'd follow my orders to put them all to sleep.

SECOND MERCHANT

Some angel or else her prayers protected them.

Some angel or maybe her prayers protected them.

(Goes into the Treasury and returns with bags of treasure. FIRST MERCHANT has been listening at the oratory door.)

(Goes into the Treasury and comes back with bags of treasure. FIRST MERCHANT has been listening by the oratory door.)

FIRST MERCHANT

She has fallen asleep.

She’s fallen asleep.

(SECOND MERCHANT goes out through one of the arches at the back and stands listening. The bags are at his feet.)

(SECOND MERCHANT walks out through one of the arches at the back and stands listening. The bags are at his feet.)

SECOND MERCHANT

We've all the treasure now,
So let's away before they've tracked us out.

We have all the treasure now,
So let's get out of here before they find us.

FIRST MERCHANT

First Seller

I have a plan to win her.

I have a plan to win her over.

SECOND MERCHANT

You have time enough
If you would kill her and bear off her soul
Before they are upon us with their prayers;
They search the Western Tower.

You have plenty of time
If you want to kill her and take her soul
Before they come at us with their prayers;
They’re searching the Western Tower.

FIRST MERCHANT

That may not be.
We cannot face the heavenly host in arms.
Her soul must come to us of its own will,
But being of the ninth and mightiest Hell
Where all are kings, I have a plan to win it.
Lady, we've news that's crying out for speech.

That might not be true.
We can't confront the heavenly host in battle.
Her soul has to come to us willingly,
But being from the ninth and strongest Hell,
Where everyone is a king, I have a strategy to get it.
Lady, we've got news that needs to be shared.

(CATHLEEN wakes and comes to door of chapel.)

(CATHLEEN wakes up and goes to the door of the chapel.)

CATHLEEN

Who calls?

Who's calling?

FIRST MERCHANT

63We have brought news.

We have news.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

What are you?

FIRST MERCHANT

We are merchants, and we know the book of the world
Because we have walked upon its leaves; and there
Have read of late matters that much concern you;
And noticing the castle door stand open,
Came in to find an ear.

We are traders, and we understand the world’s story
Because we have walked through its pages; and there
We've learned about recent events that greatly affect you;
And seeing the castle door wide open,
We came in to find someone to listen.

CATHLEEN

The door stands open,
That no one who is famished or afraid,
Despair of help or of a welcome with it.
But you have news, you say.

The door is open.
So that anyone who is hungry or scared,
Doesn't lose hope for help or a warm greeting.
But you have news, you say.

FIRST MERCHANT

We saw a man,
Heavy with sickness in the bog of Allen,
Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair Head
We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed
In the dark night; and not less still than they,
64Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea.

We saw a guy,
Suffering from illness in the bog of Allen,
Whom you had asked to buy cattle. Near Fair Head
We saw your grain ships anchored without wind
In the dark night; and not less still than they,
64Flickered all their mirrored lanterns on the sea.

CATHLEEN

My thanks to God, to Mary and the angels,
That I have money in my treasury,
And can buy grain from those who have stored it up
To prosper on the hunger of the poor.
But you've been far and know the signs of things,
When will this famine end?

My thanks to God, to Mary and the angels,
That I have money in my treasury,
And can buy grain from those who have stored it up
To benefit from the hunger of the poor.
But you've been away and know what's going on,
When will this famine end?

FIRST MERCHANT

Day copies day,
And there's no sign of change, nor can it change,
With the wheat withered and the cattle dead.

Every day is pretty much the same,
And there’s no sign of change, nor can it change,
With the wheat dried up and the cattle gone.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

And heard you of the demons who buy souls?

And have you heard about the demons who buy souls?

FIRST MERCHANT

There are some men who hold they have wolves' heads,
And say their limbs—dried by the infinite flame—
Have all the speed of storms; others, again,
Say they are gross and little; while a few
Will have it they seem much as mortals are,
65But tall and brown and travelled—like us, lady—
Yet all agree a power is in their looks
That makes men bow, and flings a casting-net
About their souls, and that all men would go
And barter those poor vapours, were it not
You bribe them with the safety of your gold.

Some men believe they have the heads of wolves,
And claim their bodies—burned by the endless fire—
Move as fast as storms; others, on the other hand,
Say they are dull and small; while a few
Insist they look a lot like humans,
65But tall and brown and experienced—like us, lady—
Yet everyone agrees there's a power in their gaze
That makes men bow down, casting a net
Around their souls, and that all men would go
And trade those poor illusions, if not
You tempt them with the safety of your gold.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels
That I am wealthy! Wherefore do they sell?

Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels
That I am rich! Why do they sell?

FIRST MERCHANT

As we came in at the great door we saw
Your porter sleeping in his niche—a soul
Too little to be worth a hundred pence,
And yet they buy it for a hundred crowns.
But for a soul like yours, I heard them say,
They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more.

As we walked in through the big door, we noticed
Your doorman sleeping in his spot—a person
Too insignificant to be worth a hundred bucks,
And yet they pay a hundred grand for him.
But for a soul like yours, I heard them mention,
They would offer five hundred thousand grand or more.

CATHLEEN

How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?
Is the green grave so terrible a thing?

How can a pile of crowns buy a soul?
Is the green grave such a terrible thing?

FIRST MERCHANT

Some sell because the money gleams, and some
66Because they are in terror of the grave,
And some because their neighbours sold before,
And some because there is a kind of joy
In casting hope away, in losing joy,
In ceasing all resistance, in at last
Opening one's arms to the eternal flames,
In casting all sails out upon the wind;
To this—full of the gaiety of the lost—
Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.

Some sell because the money looks so appealing, and some
66Because they are afraid of dying,
And some because their neighbors sold first,
And some because there’s a strange joy
In giving up hope, in losing happiness,
In stopping all resistance, in finally
Opening their arms to the eternal fire,
In letting go of everything and going with the flow;
To this—filled with the joy of the lost—
Would everyone rush if your money were gone.

CATHLEEN

There is a something, Merchant, in your voice
That makes me fear. When you were telling how
A man may lose his soul and lose his God
Your eyes were lighted up, and when you told
How my poor money serves the people, both—
Merchants forgive me—seemed to smile.

There’s something in your voice, Merchant,
That makes me uneasy. When you described how
A person can lose their soul and lose their God,
Your eyes lit up, and when you said
How my money helps the people, both—
Merchants, forgive me—seemed to grin.

FIRST MERCHANT

I laugh
To think that all these people should be swung
As on a lady's shoe-string,—under them
The glowing leagues of never-ending flame.

I'm laughing
To think that all these people should be swung
Like on a lady's shoelace,—beneath them
The blazing stretches of infinite fire.

CATHLEEN

67There is a something in you that I fear;
A something not of us; were you not born
In some most distant corner of the world?

67There’s something in you that I’m afraid of;
Something not from us; were you not born
In some far-off corner of the world?

(The SECOND MERCHANT, who has been listening at the door, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard.)

(The SECOND VENDOR, who has been eavesdropping by the door, steps forward, and as he does, a sound of voices and footsteps is heard.)

SECOND MERCHANT

Away now—they are in the passage—hurry,
For they will know us, and freeze up our hearts
With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin
With holy water.

Away now—they are in the corridor—hurry,
For they will recognize us, and chill our hearts
With Ave Marys, and scorch our skin
With holy water.

FIRST MERCHANT

Farewell; for we must ride
Many a mile before the morning come;
Our horses beat the ground impatiently.

Bye; we have to go
A long way to go before morning comes;
Our horses are stamping their feet restlessly.

(They go out. A number of PEASANTS enter by other door.)

(They go out. A group of Farmers enter through another door.)

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

Forgive us, lady, but we heard a noise.

Forgive us, ma'am, but we heard a sound.

SECOND PEASANT

SECOND FARMER

68We sat by the fireside telling vanities.

68We sat by the fire sharing silly stories.

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

We heard a noise, but though we have searched the house
We have found nobody.

We heard a noise, but even though we searched the house,
We found no one.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

You are too timid,
For now you are safe from all the evil times,
There is no evil that can find you here.

You're being too reserved,
Right now you're safe from all the bad times,
There's no harm that can reach you here.

OONA (entering hurriedly)

OONA (rushing in)

Ochone! Ochone! The treasure room is broken in.
The door stands open, and the gold is gone.

Oh no! Oh no! The treasure room has been broken into.
The door is wide open, and the gold is gone.

(PEASANTS raise a lamentable cry.)

(PEASANTS raise a mournful cry.)

CATHLEEN

Cathy

Be silent. (The cry ceases.) Have you seen nobody?

Be quiet. (The cry stops.) Have you seen anyone?

OONA

Ochone!
That my good mistress should lose all this money.

Oh no!
That my dear mistress should lose all this money.

CATHLEEN

69Let those among you—not too old to ride—
Get horses and search all the country round,
I'll give a farm to him who finds the thieves.

69Let those of you who are still young enough to ride—
Get horses and search the entire area,
I'll offer a farm to whoever finds the thieves.

(A man with keys at his girdle has come in while she speaks. There is a general murmur of "The porter! the porter!")

(A man with keys hanging from his belt has entered while she is speaking. There’s a collective murmur of “The porter! The porter!”)

PORTER

Bellhop

Demons were here. I sat beside the door
In my stone niche, and two owls passed me by,
Whispering with human voices.

Demons were present. I sat next to the door
In my stone nook, and two owls flew past me,
Murmuring with human voices.

OLD PEASANT

OLD FARMER

God forsakes us.

God has abandoned us.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

Old man, old man, He never closed a door
Unless one opened. I am desolate,
Because of a strange thought that's in my heart;
But I have still my faith; therefore be silent;
For surely He does not forsake the world,
But stands before it modelling in the clay
And moulding there His image. Age by age
The clay wars with His fingers and pleads hard
70For its old, heavy, dull and shapeless ease;
But sometimes—though His hand is on it still—
It moves awry and demon hordes are born.

Old man, old man, he never shut a door
Unless one was opened. I feel lost,
Because of a strange thought inside me;
But I still have my faith; so just be quiet;
For surely He does not abandon the world,
But stands before it shaping the clay
And forming His image there. Age after age
The clay struggles against His touch and begs hard
70For its old, heavy, dull, and shapeless comfort;
But sometimes—even though His hand is still upon it—
It goes off course and dark forces come to life.

(PEASANTS cross themselves.)

(PEASANTS make the sign of the cross.)

Yet leave me now, for I am desolate,
I hear a whisper from beyond the thunder.

Yet leave me now, for I am alone,
I hear a whisper from beyond the storm.

(She comes from the oratory door.)

(She comes from the speaking room door.)

Yet stay an instant. When we meet again
I may have grown forgetful. Oona, take
These two—the larder and the dairy keys.

Yet wait a moment. When we meet again
I might have forgotten. Oona, take
These two—the larder and the dairy keys.

(To the PORTER.)

(To the DELIVERY PERSON.)

But take you this. It opens the small room
Of herbs for medicine, of hellebore,
Of vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal.
The book of cures is on the upper shelf.

But consider this: It opens the small room
Filled with herbs for medicine, hellebore,
Vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal.
The book of cures is on the upper shelf.

PORTER

BAGGAGE ATTENDANT

Why do you do this, lady; did you see
Your coffin in a dream?

Why are you doing this, lady? Did you see
Your coffin in a dream?

CATHLEEN

Ah, no, not that.
But I have come to a strange thought. I have heard
71A sound of wailing in unnumbered hovels,
And I must go down, down—I know not where—
Pray for all men and women mad from famine;
Pray, you good neighbours.

Oh no, not that.
But I have arrived at a strange thought. I have heard
71 a sound of crying in countless homes,
And I must go down, down—I don’t know where—
Pray for all the men and women driven crazy by hunger;
Pray, you good neighbors.

(The PEASANTS all kneel. COUNTESS CATHLEEN ascends the steps to the door of the oratory, and turning round stands there motionless for a little, and then cries in a loud voice:)

(The FARMERS all kneel. Countess Cathleen walks up the steps to the door of the oratory, turns around, stands there still for a moment, and then calls out loudly:)

Mary, Queen of angels,
And all you clouds on clouds of saints, farewell!

Mary, Queen of Angels,
And all you endless clouds of saints, goodbye!

END OF SCENE III.

SCENE IV

Scene.—A wood near the Castle, as in Scene II. A group of PEASANTS pass.

Scene.—A forest close to the Castle, similar to Scene II. A group of FARMERS walks by.

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

I have seen silver and copper, but not gold.

SECOND PEASANT

SECOND FARMER

It's yellow and it shines.

It's bright yellow and shiny.

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

It's beautiful.
The most beautiful thing under the sun,
That's what I've heard.

It's amazing.
The most stunning thing under the sun,
That's what I've heard.

THIRD PEASANT

THIRD FARMER

I have seen gold enough.

I’ve seen enough gold.

FOURTH PEASANT

FOURTH FARMER

76I would not say that it's so beautiful.

76I wouldn’t say it’s that beautiful.

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

But doesn't a gold piece glitter like the sun?
That's what my father, who'd seen better days,
Told me when I was but a little boy—
So high—so high, it's shining like the sun,
Round and shining, that is what he said.

But doesn't a gold coin shine like the sun?
That's what my dad, who had seen better times,
Told me when I was just a little kid—
So small—so small, it's shining like the sun,
Round and bright, that's what he said.

SECOND PEASANT

SECOND FARMER

There's nothing in the world it cannot buy.

There's nothing in the world it can't buy.

FIRST PEASANT

FIRST FARMER

They've bags and bags of it.

They have a lot of it.

(They go out. The two MERCHANTS follow silently. Then ALEEL passes over the stage singing.)

(They leave. The two Sellers follow quietly. Then ALEEL walks across the stage singing.)

ALEEL

Impetuous heart be still, be still,
Your sorrowful love can never be told,
Cover it up with a lonely tune.
He who could bend all things to His will
Has covered the door of the infinite fold
With the pale stars and the wandering moon.

Impetuous heart, calm down, calm down,
Your painful love can never be expressed,
Hide it with a lonely song.
He who can control everything
Has covered the entrance to the limitless realm
With the pale stars and the wandering moon.

END OF SCENE IV.

SCENE V

Scene.—The house of SHEMUS RUA. There is an alcove at the back with curtains; in it a bed, and on the bed is the body of MARY with candles round it. The two MERCHANTS while they speak put a large book upon a table, arrange money, and so on.

Scene.—The house of Shemus Rua. At the back, there’s an alcove with curtains; inside, there’s a bed, and on the bed lies the body of MARY surrounded by candles. The two SELLERS talk while placing a large book on a table, arranging money, and so on.

FIRST MERCHANT

Thanks to that lie I told about her ships
And that about the herdsman lying sick,
We shall be too much thronged with souls to-morrow.

Thanks to that lie I told about her ships
And that about the herdsman who's lying sick,
We will have too many souls crowded tomorrow.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

What has she in her coffers now but mice?

What does she have in her treasure chest now but mice?

FIRST MERCHANT

When the night fell and I had shaped myself
Into the image of the man-headed owl,
I hurried to the cliffs of Donegal,
And saw with all their canvas full of wind
80And rushing through the parti-coloured sea
Those ships that bring the woman grain and meal.
They're but three days from us.

When night came and I had transformed myself
Into the figure of the man-headed owl,
I rushed to the cliffs of Donegal,
And saw with all their sails filled with wind
80And speeding through the colorful sea
Those ships that bring the women grain and flour.
They're only three days away from us.

SECOND MERCHANT

When the dew rose
I hurried in like feathers to the east,
And saw nine hundred oxen driven through Meath
With goads of iron. They're but three days from us.

When the dew appeared
I rushed in like the wind to the east,
And saw nine hundred oxen being driven through Meath
With iron prods. They're only three days away from us.

FIRST MERCHANT

Three days for traffic.

Three days for traffic delays.

(PEASANTS crowd in with TEIG and SHEMUS.)

SHEMUS

Come in, come in, you are welcome.
That is my wife. She mocked at my great masters,
And would not deal with them. Now there she is;
She does not even know she was a fool,
So great a fool she was.

Come on in, you’re welcome.
That's my wife. She laughed at my great mentors,
And refused to engage with them. Now there she is;
She doesn’t even realize she was foolish,
What a fool she was.

TEIG

DOUGH

She would not eat
One crumb of bread bought with our master's money,
81But lived on nettles, dock, and dandelion.

She wouldn't eat.
One crumb of bread bought with our master's money,
81But lived on nettles, dock, and dandelion.

SHEMUS

Shemus

There's nobody could put into her head
That Death is the worst thing can happen us.
Though that sounds simple, for her tongue grew rank
With all the lies that she had heard in chapel.
Draw to the curtain. (TEIG draws it.) You'll not play the fool
While these good gentlemen are there to save you.

There's nobody who could get it into her head
That death is the worst thing that can happen to us.
Even if it sounds simple, her mind got clouded
With all the lies she heard in church.
Draw the curtain. (TEIG draws it.) You won't make a fool of yourself
While these good gentlemen are here to save you.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Since the drought came they drift about in a throng,
Like autumn leaves blown by the dreary winds.
Come, deal—come, deal.

Since the drought hit, they wander around in a crowd,
Like autumn leaves tossed by the gloomy winds.
Come on, let’s trade—come on, let’s trade.

FIRST MERCHANT

Who will come deal with us?

Who will come and take care of this with us?

SHEMUS

Shemus

They are out of spirit, sir, with lack of food,
Save four or five. Here, sir, is one of these;
The others will gain courage in good time.

They’re feeling down, sir, because they haven’t eaten,
Except for four or five. Here, sir, is one of them;
The others will regain their strength eventually.

MIDDLE-AGED-MAN

MID-40s MAN

82I come to deal—if you give honest price.

82I'm here to negotiate—as long as you offer a fair price.

FIRST MERCHANT (reading in a book)

FIRST MERCHANT (looking at a book)

"John Maher, a man of substance, with dull mind,
And quiet senses and unventurous heart.
The angels think him safe." Two hundred crowns,
All for a soul, a little breath of wind.

"John Maher, a man of wealth, with a dull mind,
And calm senses and an unadventurous heart.
The angels consider him secure." Two hundred crowns,
All for a soul, just a tiny breath of wind.

THE MAN

THE GUY

I ask three hundred crowns. You have read there
That no mere lapse of days can make me yours.

I ask for three hundred crowns. You’ve read there
That no simple passage of time can make me yours.

FIRST MERCHANT

FIRST VENDOR

There is something more writ here—"Often at night
He is wakeful from a dread of growing poor,
And thereon wonders if there's any man
That he could rob in safety."

There’s something more written here—"Often at night
He can’t sleep because he’s scared of becoming poor,
And then he wonders if there’s anyone
He could rob without getting caught."

A PEASANT

A farmer

Who'd have thought it?
And I was once alone with him at midnight.

Who would’ve thought that?
And I was once alone with him at midnight.

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER FARMER

I will not trust my mother after this.

I can't trust my mom after this.

FIRST MERCHANT

83There is this crack in you—two hundred crowns.

83There's this flaw in you—two hundred crowns.

A PEASANT

A farmer

That's plenty for a rogue.

That's enough for a rogue.

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER FARMER

I'd give him nothing.

I'd give him nada.

SHEMUS

You'll get no more—so take what's offered you.

You'll get nothing further—so take what's given to you.

(A general murmur, during which the MIDDLE-AGED MAN takes money, and slips into background, where he sinks on to a seat.)

(A soft chatter, while the MIDDLE-AGED GUY takes some cash and moves into the background, where he sits down.)

FIRST MERCHANT

Has no one got a better soul than that?
If only for the credit of your parishes,
Traffic with us.

Has no one here got a better soul than that?
At least for the reputation of your communities,
Talk to us.

A WOMAN

A female

What will you give for mine?

What will you give me in return?

FIRST MERCHANT (reading in book)

FIRST MERCHANT (reading from a book)

"Soft, handsome, and still young"—not much, I think.
"It's certain that the man she's married to
Knows nothing of what's hidden in the jar
84Between the hour-glass and the pepper-pot."

"Soft, good-looking, and still young"—not much, I think.
"It's clear that the man she's married to
Has no idea about what's hidden in the jar
84Between the hourglass and the pepper shaker."

THE WOMAN

THE GIRL

The scandalous book.

The controversial book.

FIRST MERCHANT

"Nor how when he's away
At the horse fair the hand that wrote what's hid
Will tap three times upon the window-pane."

"And who knows, when he's gone"
At the horse fair, the hand that wrote what’s concealed
Will tap three times on the window."

THE WOMAN

And if there is a letter, that is no reason
Why I should have less money than the others.

And just because there's a letter, that doesn't mean
I should have less money than everyone else.

FIRST MERCHANT

You're almost safe, I give you fifty crowns.

You're almost safe; I'll give you fifty crowns.

(She turns to go.)

She turns to leave.

A hundred, then.

One hundred, then.

SHEMUS

Woman, have sense—come, come.
Is this a time to haggle at the price?
There, take it up. There, there. That's right.

Come on, lady, let’s be reasonable—let's go, let’s go.
Is this really the moment to argue over the cost?
Here, take it. There you go. That’s good.

(She takes them and goes into the crowd.)

(She grabs them and heads into the crowd.)

FIRST MERCHANT

85Come, deal, deal, deal. It is but for charity
We buy such souls at all; a thousand sins
Made them our Master's long before we came.

85Come on, let's make a deal. It’s just for charity.
We purchase these souls anyway; a thousand sins
Belonged to our Master long before we arrived.

(ALEEL enters.)

ALEEL

Here, take my soul, for I am tired of it.
I do not ask a price.

Here, take my soul, because I’m done with it.
I’m not asking for anything in return.

SHEMUS

Shemus

Not ask a price?
How can you sell your soul without a price?
I would not listen to his broken wits;
His love for Countess Cathleen has so crazed him
He hardly understands what he is saying.

Not asking for a price?
How can you sell your soul without a price?
I wouldn't pay any attention to his rambling;
His love for Countess Cathleen has driven him so mad
He barely knows what he's talking about.

ALEEL

The trouble that has come on Countess Cathleen,
The sorrow that is in her wasted face,
The burden in her eyes, have broke my wits,
And yet I know I'd have you take my soul.

The trouble that has come on Countess Cathleen,
The sorrow that is in her worn face,
The weight in her eyes, have driven me mad,
And yet I know I'd have you take my soul.

FIRST MERCHANT

We cannot take your soul, for it is hers.

We can't take your soul because it belongs to her.

ALEEL

No, but you must. Seeing it cannot help her
86I have grown tired of it.

No, but you have to. Looking at it won’t help her
86I'm sick of it.

FIRST MERCHANT

Begone from me,
I may not touch it.

Leave me alone.
I can't engage with it.

ALEEL

Is your power so small?
And must I bear it with me all my days?
May you be scorned and mocked!

Is your power really that weak?
And do I have to carry it with me forever?
May you be ridiculed and sneered at!

FIRST MERCHANT

Drag him away.
He troubles me.

Pull him away.
He bothers me.

(TEIG and SHEMUS lead ALEEL into the crowd.)

TEIG and SHEMUS lead ALEEL into the crowd.

SECOND MERCHANT

His gaze has filled me, brother,
With shaking and a dreadful fear.

His gaze has completely taken over me, brother,
With trembling and intense fear.

FIRST MERCHANT

Lean forward
And kiss the circlet where my Master's lips
Were pressed upon it when he sent us hither;
You shall have peace once more.

Lean in
And kiss the circle where my Master's lips
Were pressed when he sent us here;
You will find peace again.

(SECOND MERCHANT kisses the gold circlet that is about the head of the FIRST MERCHANT.)

(SECOND MERCHANT kisses the gold circlet that is around the head of the FIRST MERCHANT.)

I, too, grow weary,
But there is something moving in my heart
Whereby I know that what we seek the most
Is drawing near—our labour will soon end.
Come, deal, deal, deal, deal, deal; are you all dumb?
What, will you keep me from our ancient home,
And from the eternal revelry?

I'm tired, too.
But there's something stirring in my heart
That tells me what we want the most
Is getting closer—our work will soon be over.
Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on; are you all silent?
What, are you going to keep me from our old home,
And from the everlasting celebration?

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Deal, deal.

Okay, okay.

SHEMUS

Shemus

They say you beat the woman down too low.

They say you brought the woman down too low.

FIRST MERCHANT

INITIAL VENDOR

I offer this great price: a thousand crowns
For an old woman who was always ugly.

I’m offering this amazing deal: a thousand crowns
For an old woman who has always been unattractive.

(An old PEASANT WOMAN comes forward, and he takes up a book and reads:)

(An older Rural woman steps forward, and he picks up a book and reads:)

There is but little set down here against her.
"She has stolen eggs and fowl when times were bad,
But when the times grew better has confessed it;
She never missed her chapel of a Sunday
88And when she could, paid dues." Take up your money.

There’s not much written here against her.
"She’s stolen eggs and chickens when times were tough,
But when things got better, she admitted it;
She never skipped church on Sundays
88And when she could, paid her dues." Take your money.

OLD WOMAN

ELDERLY WOMAN

God bless you, sir. (She screams.) Oh, sir, a pain went through me!

God bless you, sir. (She screams.) Oh, sir, I felt a pain shoot through me!

FIRST MERCHANT

That name is like a fire to all damned souls.

That name is like a flame to all cursed souls.

(Murmur among the PEASANTS, who shrink back from her as she goes out.)

(Whispers among the FARMERS, who pull away from her as she leaves.)

A PEASANT

A farmer

How she screamed out!

How she yelled out!

SECOND PEASANT

SECOND FARMER

And maybe we shall scream so.

Maybe we'll scream like that.

THIRD PEASANT

THIRD FARMER

I tell you there is no such place as hell.

I’m telling you, there’s no place like hell.

FIRST MERCHANT

Can such a trifle turn you from your profit?
Come, deal; come, deal.

Can something so insignificant distract you from your gain?
Come on, make a deal; come on, make a deal.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

MIDDLE-AGED GUY

89Master, I am afraid.

Master, I'm scared.

FIRST MERCHANT

FIRST VENDOR

I bought your soul, and there's no sense in fear
Now the soul's gone.

I bought your soul, and there's no reason to be afraid
Now the soul's gone.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

MIDDLE-AGED GUY

Give me my soul again.

Give me back my soul.

WOMAN (going on her knees and clinging to MERCHANT)

WOMAN (kneeling and holding MERCHANT)

And take this money too, and give me mine.

And take this money too, and give me my share.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Bear bastards, drink or follow some wild fancy;
For sighs and cries are the soul's work,
And you have none.

Bear bastards, drink or follow some wild whim;
For sighs and cries are the soul's work,
And you have none.

(Throws the woman off.)

(Knocks the woman over.)

PEASANT

Farmer

Come, let's away.

Let's go.

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER WORKER

Yes, yes.

Sure, sure.

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER FARMER

Come quickly; if that woman had not screamed
90I would have lost my soul.

Come quickly; if that woman hadn't screamed
90I would have lost my soul.

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER FARMER

Come, come away.

Come, let's go.

(They turn to door, but are stopped by shouts of "Countess Cathleen! Countess Cathleen!")

(They turn to the door, but are stopped by shouts of "Countess Cathleen! Countess Cathleen!")

CATHLEEN (entering)

CATHLEEN (walks in)

And so you trade once more?

So you're trading again?

FIRST MERCHANT

In spite of you.
What brings you here, saint with the sapphire eyes?

Despite you.
What brings you here, saint with the blue eyes?

CATHLEEN

I come to barter a soul for a great price.

I’m here to trade a soul for a high price.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

What matter, if the soul be worth the price?

What does it matter if the soul is worth the price?

CATHLEEN

The people starve, therefore the people go
Thronging to you. I hear a cry come from them
And it is in my ears by night and day,
And I would have five hundred thousand crowns
91That I may feed them till the dearth go by.

The people are starving, so they come to you
Crowding around. I hear their cries
Both night and day,
And I would pay five hundred thousand crowns
91So I can feed them until the shortage is over.

FIRST MERCHANT

It may be the soul's worth it.

It might be worth it for the soul.

CATHLEEN

Cathy

There is more:
The souls that you have bought must be set free.

There’s more:
The souls you have purchased must be freed.

FIRST MERCHANT

We know of but one soul that's worth the price.

We only know of one soul that's worth the price.

CATHLEEN

Being my own it seems a priceless thing.

Being myself feels priceless.

SECOND MERCHANT

You offer us——

You give us——

CATHLEEN

I offer my own soul.

I give my own soul.

A PEASANT

A farmer

Do not, do not, for souls the like of ours
Are not precious to God as your soul is.
O! what would Heaven do without you, lady?

Do not, do not, for souls like ours
Are not as precious to God as your soul is.
Oh! What would Heaven do without you, lady?

ANOTHER PEASANT

ANOTHER FARMER

92Look how their claws clutch in their leathern gloves.

92Look how their claws grip in their leather gloves.

FIRST MERCHANT

First Seller

Five hundred thousand crowns; we give the price.
The gold is here; the souls even while you speak
Have slipped out of our bond, because your face
Has shed a light on them and filled their hearts.
But you must sign, for we omit no form
In buying a soul like yours.

Five hundred thousand crowns; that's our offer.
The gold is ready; the souls, even as you speak
Have slipped out of our grasp, because your face
Has illuminated them and filled their hearts.
But you have to sign, as we follow every step
In purchasing a soul like yours.

SECOND MERCHANT

Sign with this quill
It was a feather growing on the cock
That crowed when Peter dared deny his Master,
And all who use it have great honour in Hell.

Sign with this pen
It was a feather from the rooster
That crowed when Peter denied his Master,
And everyone who uses it holds great honor in Hell.

(CATHLEEN leans forward to sign.)

(CATHLEEN leans in to sign.)

ALEEL (rushing forward and snatching the pen from her)

ALEEL (hurrying forward and taking the pen from her)

Leave all things to the builder of the heavens.

Leave everything to the creator of the skies.

CATHLEEN

I have no thoughts; I hear a cry—a cry.

I have no thoughts; I hear a shout—a shout.

ALEEL (casting the pen on the ground)

ALEEL (drops the pen on the ground)

I have seen a vision under a green hedge,
93A hedge of hips and haws—men yet shall hear
The Archangels rolling Satan's empty skull
Over the mountain-tops.

I saw a vision under a green hedge,
93A hedge of hips and haws—people will still hear
The Archangels rolling Satan's empty skull
Over the mountain-tops.

FIRST MERCHANT

Take him away.

(TEIG and SHEMUS drag him roughly away so that he falls upon the floor among the PEASANTS. CATHLEEN picks up parchment and signs, then turns towards the PEASANTS.)

(DOUGH and SHEMUS pull him away forcefully so that he lands on the floor among the FARMERS. CATHLEEN grabs some parchment and signs it, then turns to the FARMERS.)

CATHLEEN

Take up the money, and now come with me;
When we are far from this polluted place
I will give everybody money enough.

Take the money, and now come with me;
When we are far from this dirty place
I will give everyone enough money.

(She goes out, the PEASANTS crowding round her and kissing her dress. ALEEL and the two MERCHANTS are left alone.)

(She steps outside, the Farmers gathering around her and kissing her dress. ALEEL and the two SELLERS are left alone.)

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

We must away and wait until she dies,
Sitting above her tower as two grey owls,
Waiting as many years as may be, guarding
Our precious jewel; waiting to seize her soul.

We must go and wait until she dies,
Sitting above her tower like two gray owls,
Waiting as many years as it takes, watching
Over our precious jewel; ready to claim her soul.

FIRST MERCHANT

94We need but hover over her head in the air,
For she has only minutes. When she signed
Her heart began to break. Hush, hush, I hear
The brazen door of Hell move on its hinges,
And the eternal revelry float hither
To hearten us.

94We just need to stay close to her,
Because she only has a few minutes left. When she agreed,
Her heart started to shatter. Quiet now, I hear
The loud door of Hell creaking,
And the endless party coming this way
To encourage us.

SECOND MERCHANT

SECOND VENDOR

Leap feathered on the air
And meet them with her soul caught in your claws.

Jump lightly through the air
And meet them with your soul held in your grasp.

(They rush out. ALEEL crawls into the middle of the room. The twilight has fallen and gradually darkens as the scene goes on. There is a distant muttering of thunder and a sound of rising storm.)

(They hurry out. ALEEL crawls into the center of the room. The twilight has set in and slowly darkens as the scene progresses. There is a faint rumbling of thunder and the sound of an approaching storm.)

ALEEL

The brazen door stands wide, and Balor comes
Borne in his heavy car, and demons have lifted
The age-weary eyelids from the eyes that of old
Turned gods to stone; Barach, the traitor, comes
And the lascivious race, Cailitin,
That cast a druid weakness and decay
Over Sualtem's and old Dectera's child;
And that great king Hell first took hold upon
95When he killed Naisi and broke Deirdre's heart
And all their heads are twisted to one side,
For when they lived they warred on beauty and peace
With obstinate, crafty, sidelong bitterness.

The bold door stands wide open, and Balor arrives
Carried in his heavy chariot, and demons have lifted
The age-weary eyelids from the eyes that once
Turned gods to stone; Barach, the traitor, comes
And the lustful race, Cailitin,
That cast a druid's weakness and decay
Over Sualtem's and old Dectera's child;
And that great king Hell first seized
95When he killed Naisi and broke Deirdre's heart
And all their heads are tilted to one side,
Because when they were alive, they battled against beauty and peace
With stubborn, clever, sidelong resentment.

(He moves about as though the air above him was full of spirits. OONA enters.)

(He moves around as if the air above him is filled with spirits. Oona enters.)

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm.

Crouch down, old heron, away from the raging storm.

OONA

Where is the Countess Cathleen? All this day
Her eyes were full of tears, and when for a moment
Her hand was laid upon my hand it trembled,
And now I do not know where she is gone.

Where is Countess Cathleen? All day long
Her eyes have been filled with tears, and when for a moment
Her hand rested on mine, it trembled,
And now I have no idea where she has gone.

ALEEL

Cathleen has chosen other friends than us,
And they are rising through the hollow world.
Demons are out, old heron.

Cathleen has picked different friends instead of us,
And they are moving up in this empty world.
Demons are unleashed, old heron.

OONA

God guard her soul.

God bless her soul.

ALEEL

She's bartered it away this very hour,
As though we two were never in the world.

She's traded it away just this hour,
As if we two never existed.

(He points downward.)

He points down.

First, Orchill, her pale, beautiful head
Her body shadowy as vapour drifting
Under the dawn, for she who awoke desire
Has but a heart of blood when others die;
About her is a vapoury multitude
Of women alluring devils with soft laughter;
Behind her a host heat of the blood made sin,
But all the little pink-white nails have grown
To be great talons.

First, Orchill, her pale, beautiful head
Her body shadowy like mist drifting
In the dawn, for she who sparked desire
Has only a heart of flesh when others perish;
Around her is a misty crowd
Of women tempting devils with soft laughter;
Behind her, a horde fueled by the sin of desire,
But all the little pink-white nails have turned
Into fierce claws.

(He seizes OONA and drags her into the middle of the room and points downward with vehement gestures. The wind roars.)

(He grabs OONA and pulls her into the center of the room and points down with forceful gestures. The wind howls.)

They begin a song
And there is still some music on their tongues.

They begin to sing
And there’s still some melody on their lips.

OONA (casting herself face downwards on the floor)

OONA (lying face down on the floor)

O, Maker of all, protect her from the demons,
And if a soul must need be lost, take mine.

O, Creator of everything, keep her safe from the demons,
And if a soul has to be lost, take mine.

(ALEEL kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words. The PEASANTS return. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her upon the ground before OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if dead.)

(ALEEL kneels next to her but seems not to hear her words. The Farmers come back. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her on the ground in front of OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if she’s dead.)

OONA

O, that so many pitchers of rough clay
Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!

Oh, that so many pitchers made of rough clay
Should succeed while the porcelain shatters in two!

(She kisses the hands of CATHLEEN.)

A PEASANT

A farmer

We were under the tree where the path turns,
When she grew pale as death and fainted away.
And while we bore her hither cloudy gusts
Blackened the world and shook us on our feet;
Draw the great bolt, for no man has beheld
So black, bitter, blinding, and sudden a storm.

We were under the tree where the path bends,
When she turned as pale as death and passed out.
As we carried her here, sudden gusts
Darkened the world and knocked us off our feet;
Call down the great bolt, for no one has witnessed
Such a dark, bitter, blinding, and sudden storm.

(One who is near the door draws the bolt.)

The person closest to the door locks it.

CATHLEEN

O, hold me, and hold me tightly, for the storm
Is dragging me away.

O, hold me, and hold me tight, because the storm
Is pulling me away.

(OONA takes her in her arms. A woman begins to wail.)

(Oona hugs her tightly. A woman starts to cry.)

PEASANT

FARMER

Hush!

Silence!

PEASANTS

FARMERS

98Hush!

98Quiet!

PEASANT WOMEN

Rural women

Hush!

Be quiet!

OTHER PEASANT WOMEN

OTHER FARMER WOMEN

Hush!

Be quiet!

CATHLEEN (half rising)

CATHLEEN (partially standing)

Lay all the bags of money in a heap,
And when I am gone, old Oona, share them out
To every man and woman: judge, and give
According to their needs.

Lay all the bags of money in a pile,
And when I’m gone, old Oona, distribute them
To every man and woman: judge, and give
Based on their needs.

A PEASANT WOMAN

A peasant woman

And will she give
Enough to keep my children through the dearth?

And will she provide
Enough to support my kids during the shortage?

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

ANOTHER RURAL WOMAN

O, Queen of Heaven, and all you blessed saints,
Let us and ours be lost so she be shriven.

O, Queen of Heaven, and all you blessed saints,
Let us and our loved ones be lost so she can be forgiven.

CATHLEEN

Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;
I gaze upon them as the swallow gazes
Upon the nest under the eave, before
99She wander the loud waters. Do not weep
Too great a while, for there is many a candle
On the High Altar though one fall. Aleel,
Who sang about the dancers of the woods,
That know not the hard burden of the world,
Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell!
And farewell, Oona, you who played with me,
And bore me in your arms about the house
When I was but a child and therefore happy,
Therefore happy, even like those that dance.
The storm is in my hair and I must go.

Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;
I look at them like a swallow looks
At the nest under the eave, before
99I wander the loud waters. Don't cry
For too long, because there are many candles
On the High Altar, even if one falls. Aleel,
You who sang about the dancers in the woods,
Who don’t know the heavy burden of the world,
Having only breath in your living bodies, goodbye!
And goodbye, Oona, you who played with me,
And held me in your arms around the house
When I was just a child and therefore happy,
Therefore happy, just like those who dance.
The storm is in my hair and I have to go.

(She dies.)

(She passes away.)

OONA

Bring me the looking-glass.

Bring me the mirror.

(A woman brings it to her out of the inner room. OONA holds it over the lips of CATHLEEN. All is silent for a moment. And then she speaks in a half scream:)

(A woman brings it to her from the inner room. Oona holds it above the lips of Cathy. There’s a moment of silence. Then she speaks in a half scream:)

O, she is dead!

Oh, she's gone!

A PEASANT

A farmer

She was the great white lily of the world.

She was the beautiful white lily of the world.

A PEASANT

A farmer

100She was more beautiful than the pale stars.

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN

AN ELDERLY PEASANT WOMAN

The little plant I love is broken in two.

The little plant I love is snapped in half.

(ALEEL takes looking-glass from OONA and flings it upon the floor so that it is broken in many pieces.)

(ALEEL takes the mirror from OONA and throws it on the floor, shattering it into many pieces.)

ALEEL

I shatter you in fragments, for the face
That brimmed you up with beauty is no more:
And die, dull heart, for she whose mournful words
Made you a living spirit has passed away
And left you but a ball of passionate dust.
And you, proud earth and plumy sea, fade out!
For you may hear no more her faltering feet,
But are left lonely amid the clamorous war
Of angels upon devils.

I break you into pieces, because the face
That filled you with beauty is gone:
And die, dull heart, because the one whose sorrowful words
Gave you life has left this world
And left you as just a restless pile of dust.
And you, proud earth and fluffy sea, disappear!
For you can no longer hear her unsteady footsteps,
But remain alone amidst the noisy battle
Of angels against devils.

(He stands up; almost every one is kneeling, but it has grown so dark that only confused forms can be seen.)

(He stands up; almost everyone is kneeling, but it has gotten so dark that only blurry shapes can be seen.)

And I who weep
Call curses on you, Time and Fate and Change,
101And have no excellent hope but the great hour
When you shall plunge headlong through bottomless space.

And I who weep
Curse you, Time and Fate and Change,
101And have no great hope except for the moment
When you will dive straight into endless void.

(A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder.)

(A flash of lightning followed right away by thunder.)

A PEASANT WOMAN

A FARMER WOMAN

Pull him upon his knees before his curses
Have plucked thunder and lightning on our heads.

Pull him down to his knees before his curses
Have brought thunder and lightning down on us.

ALEEL

Angels and devils clash in the middle air,
And brazen swords clang upon brazen helms.

Angels and demons battle in the sky,
And loud swords clash against metal helmets.

(A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder.)

(A quick flash of lightning was immediately followed by a loud thunder.)

Yonder a bright spear, cast out of a sling,
Has torn through Balor's eye, and the dark clans
Fly screaming as they fled Moytura of old.

A distant bright spear, thrown from a sling,
Has pierced Balor's eye, and the dark clans
Scream and flee from Moytura of old.

(Everything is lost in darkness.)

Everything is lost in darkness.

AN OLD MAN

AN ELDERLY MAN

The Almighty wrath at our great weakness and sin
Has blotted out the world and we must die.

The Almighty's anger at our significant weakness and sin
Has erased the world, and we must perish.

(The darkness is broken by a visionary light. The PEASANTS seem to be kneeling upon the102 rocky slope of a mountain, and vapour full of storm and ever-changing light is sweeping above them and behind them. Half in the light, half in the shadow, stand armed angels. Their armour is old and worn, and their drawn swords dim and dinted. They stand as if upon the air in formation of battle and look downward with stern faces. The PEASANTS cast themselves on the ground.)

(The darkness is pierced by a visionary light. The Farmers appear to be kneeling on the102 rocky slope of a mountain, and a mist filled with storm and ever-changing light sweeps above and behind them. Half in the light, half in the shadows, stand armed angels. Their armor is old and worn, and their unsheathed swords are dull and dented. They stand as if suspended in the air in a battle formation, looking down with serious faces. The Farmers throw themselves on the ground.)

ALEEL

Look no more on the half-closed gates of Hell,
But speak to me, whose mind is smitten of God,
That it may be no more with mortal things,
And tell of her who lies there.

Look no more at the half-closed gates of Hell,
But talk to me, whose mind is touched by God,
So that it may no longer dwell on earthly matters,
And speak of her who lies there.

(He seizes one of the angels.)

(He grabs one of the angels.)

Till you speak
You shall not drift into eternity.

Until you talk
You will not fade away into eternity.

THE ANGEL

The light beats down; the gates of pearl are wide
And she is passing to the floor of peace,
And Mary of the seven times wounded heart
103Has kissed her lips, and the long blessed hair
Has fallen on her face; The Light of Lights
Looks always on the motive, not the deed,
The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone.

The sunlight shines bright; the gates of pearl are open
And she is walking into the realm of peace,
And Mary with her deeply wounded heart
103Has kissed her lips, and her long, blessed hair
Has draped over her face; The Light of Lights
Always focuses on the intention, not the action,
While the Shadow of Shadows only sees the action.

(ALEEL releases the ANGEL and kneels.)

(ALEEL lets go of the ANGEL and kneels.)

OONA

Tell them who walk upon the floor of peace
That I would die and go to her I love;
The years like great black oxen tread the world,
And God the herdsman goads them on behind
And I am broken by their passing feet.

Tell them who walk on the floor of peace
That I would die and go to the one I love;
The years like huge black oxen tread the world,
And God the herdsman pushes them on from behind
And I am crushed by their passing feet.

(A sound of far-off horns seems to come from the heart of the Light. The vision melts away, and the forms of the kneeling PEASANTS appear faintly in the darkness.)

(A distant echo of horns seems to resonate from the core of the Light. The vision fades, and the figures of the kneeling Farmers emerge softly from the shadows.)

105

THE ROSE

"Sero te amavi, Pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova! Sero te amavi."

"I loved you late, Beauty so ancient and so new! I loved you late."

S. Augustine.

St. Augustine.

107

TO LIONEL JOHNSON

109

TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, gray, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

Come near, come near, come near—Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
110The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come closer while I sing the old ways:
Cuchulain fighting against the fierce tide;
The Druid, old, raised by the woods, quiet-eyed,
Who surrounded Fergus with dreams and endless ruin;
And your own sadness, of which the stars, grown old,
In dancing silver sandals on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come close, so I’m no longer blinded by man's fate,
I find beneath the branches of love and hate,
In all the foolish little things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

Come close, come close, come close—Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-scent to fill!
So I can still hear common things that yearn;
110The weak worm hiding in its tiny cave,
The field mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that labor and pass;
But I seek only to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright souls of those long dead,
And learn to chant a language men do not know.
Come close; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Ireland and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

111

FERGUS AND THE DRUID

FERGUS

The whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape.
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin gray man half lost in gathering night.

I’ve spent the whole day following you through the rocks,
And you’ve shifted and transformed from one form to another.
First, you were a raven with barely a feather left on its ancient wings,
Then you looked like a weasel, moving from stone to stone,
And now, at last, you take on a human shape,
A thin gray man, almost lost in the gathering darkness.

DRUID

What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

What do you want, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

FERGUS

This would I say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Concobar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
112And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my care.

This is what I would say, the wisest of all living beings:
Young, clever Concobar was sitting next to me
When I made my decision, and his words were smart,
112And what felt like an endless burden to me,
Seemed easy to him, so I placed the crown
On his head to relieve my worries.

DRUID

What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

What do you want, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

FERGUS

I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head.

I celebrate with my people on the hill,
And stroll through the woods, and race my chariot wheels
Along the edge of the whispering sea;
And still I sense the crown on my head.

DRUID

What would you?

What would you do?

FERGUS

I would be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

I wouldn't be a king anymore.
But discover the dreaming wisdom that belongs to you.

DRUID

Look on my thin gray hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman loves me, no man seeks my help,
113Because I be not of the things I dream.

Look at my thin gray hair and hollow cheeks
And these hands that can no longer lift a sword.
This body shakes like a reed in the wind.
No woman loves me, and no man seeks my help,
113Because I am not what I dream of being.

FERGUS

A wild and foolish labourer is a king,
To do and do and do, and never dream.

A reckless and foolish worker is a king,
Always doing, doing, and doing, but never dreaming.

DRUID

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

Take this little bag of dreams, if you need to;
Unfasten the cord, and they will surround you.

FERGUS

I see my life go dripping like a stream
From change to change; I have been many things,
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold,
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, being all,
And the whole world weighs down upon my heart:
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured bag!

I watch my life flow like a stream,
From one change to another; I've been many things,
A green drop in the tide, a flash of light
On a sword, a fir tree on a hill,
An old slave working at a heavy mill,
A king sitting on a throne of gold,
And all those experiences were amazing and significant;
But now I've become nothing, yet I'm everything,
And the entire world feels heavy on my heart:
Ah! Druid, Druid, how deep layers of sorrow
Are hidden in that small slate-colored bag!

114

THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN

A man came slowly from the setting sun,
To Forgail's daughter, Emer, in her dun,
And found her dyeing cloth with subtle care,
And said, casting aside his draggled hair:
"I am Aleel, the swineherd, whom you bid
"Go dwell upon the sea cliffs, vapour hid;
"But now my years of watching are no more."

Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,
And stretching out her arms, red with the dye,
Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.

Looking on her, Aleel, the swineherd, said:
"Not any god alive, nor mortal dead,
"Has slain so mighty armies, so great kings,
"Nor won the gold that now Cuchulain brings."

"Why do you tremble thus from feet to crown?"

115Aleel, the swineherd, wept and cast him down
Upon the web-heaped floor, and thus his word:
"With him is one sweet-throated like a bird."

"Who bade you tell these things?" and then she cried
To those about, "Beat him with thongs of hide
"And drive him from the door."

And thus it was:
And where her son, Finmole, on the smooth grass
Was driving cattle, came she with swift feet,
And called out to him, "Son, it is not meet
"That you stay idling here with flocks and herds."

"I have long waited, mother, for those words:
"But wherefore now?"

"There is a man to die;
"You have the heaviest arm under the sky."

"My father dwells among the sea-worn bands,
"And breaks the ridge of battle with his hands."

"Nay, you are taller than Cuchulain, son."

116"He is the mightiest man in ship or dun."

"Nay, he is old and sad with many wars,
"And weary of the crash of battle cars."

"I only ask what way my journey lies,
"For God, who made you bitter, made you wise."

"The Red Branch kings a tireless banquet keep,
"Where the sun falls into the Western deep.
"Go there, and dwell on the green forest rim;
"But tell alone your name and house to him
"Whose blade compels, and bid them send you one
"Who has a like vow from their triple dun."

Between the lavish shelter of a wood
And the gray tide, the Red Branch multitude
Feasted, and with them old Cuchulain dwelt,
And his young dear one close beside him knelt,
And gazed upon the wisdom of his eyes,
More mournful than the depth of starry skies,
And pondered on the wonder of his days;
And all around the harp-string told his praise,
And Concobar, the Red Branch king of kings,
With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.
At last Cuchulain spake, "A young man strays
117"Driving the deer along the woody ways.
"I often hear him singing to and fro,
"I often hear the sweet sound of his bow,
"Seek out what man he is."

One went and came.
"He bade me let all know he gives his name
"At the sword point, and bade me bring him one
"Who had a like vow from our triple dun."

"I only of the Red Branch hosted now,"
Cuchulain cried, "have made and keep that vow."

After short fighting in the leafy shade,
He spake to the young man, "Is there no maid
"Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,
"Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,
"That you come here to meet this ancient sword?"

"The dooms of men are in God's hidden hoard."

"Your head a while seemed like a woman's head
"That I loved once."

Again the fighting sped,
But now the war rage in Cuchulain woke,
And through the other's shield his long blade broke,
And pierced him.

118"Speak before your breath is done."
"I am Finmole, mighty Cuchulain's son."

"I put you from your pain. I can no more."

While day its burden on to evening bore,
With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;
Then Concobar sent that sweet-throated maid,
And she, to win him, his gray hair caressed;
In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.
Then Concobar, the subtlest of all men,
Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,
Spake thus, "Cuchulain will dwell there and brood,
"For three days more in dreadful quietude,
"And then arise, and raving slay us all.
"Go, cast on him delusions magical,
"That he might fight the waves of the loud sea."
And ten by ten under a quicken tree,
The Druids chaunted, swaying in their hands
Tall wands of alder, and white quicken wands.

In three days' time, Cuchulain with a moan
Stood up, and came to the long sands alone:
For four days warred he with the bitter tide;
And the waves flowed above him, and he died.

A man walked slowly from the setting sun,
To Forgail's daughter, Emer, in her dwelling,
And found her dyeing fabric with care,
And said, brushing away his tangled hair:
"I am Aleel, the swineherd, whom you told
"To stay on the sea cliffs, shrouded in fog;
"But my years of waiting are over now."

Then Emer tossed the fabric on the floor,
And stretching out her arms, stained with dye,
Let out a loud, sudden cry.

Looking at her, Aleel, the swineherd said:
"No god alive, nor mortal dead,
"Has defeated such powerful armies, such great kings,
"Or won the gold that Cuchulain now brings."

"Why do you tremble like that?"

115Aleel, the swineherd, wept and fell down
On the piled fabric on the floor, and said:
"With him is one whose voice is sweet like a bird."

"Who told you to say these things?" and then she cried
To those around, "Beat him with straps of hide
"And drive him from the door."

And that’s how it went:
And where her son, Finmole, on the smooth grass
Was tending cattle, she came running,
And called out to him, "Son, it’s not right
"That you waste time here with flocks and herds."

"I’ve waited, mother, long for those words:
"But why now?"

There's a man to kill; "You have the strongest arm in the sky." "My father trains with the battle-worn bands, And breaks the battle lines with his hands." "No, you are taller than Cuchulain, son." "He is the mightiest man in ship or fortress." "No, he is old and burdened by many wars, And tired of the clash of battle chariots." "I just want to know where my journey leads, For God, who made you bitter, made you wise." "The Red Branch kings hold a never-ending feast, Where the sun sets into the Western sea. Go there, and stay on the edge of the green forest; But tell only your name and lineage to him Whose blade commands, and ask them to send you someone Who has a similar vow from their triple fort." Between the lush cover of a forest And the gray tide, the Red Branch multitude Feasted, and with them old Cuchulain stayed, And his young beloved knelt beside him, Gazing into the wisdom in his eyes, More mournful than the depth of starlit skies, As she thought about the wonders of his life; And all around, the harp strings sang his praise, And Concobar, the king of kings, Played the brazen strings with his own hands. Finally, Cuchulain spoke, "A young man wanders Driving the deer along the wooded paths. I often hear him singing as he goes, I often hear the sweet sound of his bow, Go find out who he is." One went and came. "He told me to let everyone know he offers his name At the edge of his sword, and asked me to bring him someone Who has a similar vow from our triple fort." "I am the only one from the Red Branch host now," Cuchulain declared, "who has made and keeps that vow." After a brief fight in the leafy shade, He said to the young man, "Is there no maiden Who loves you, no white arms to hold you close, Or do you long for the dim, sleepy ground, That you came here to face this ancient sword?" "The fates of men are in God's secret hoard." "For a moment, your head reminded me of a woman's head That I once loved." Again the fighting resumed, But now the battle rage in Cuchulain ignited, And through the other’s shield, his long blade broke, And pierced him. "Speak before your breath is gone." "I am Finmole, Cuchulain's mighty son." "I free you from your pain. I can do no more." While day turned into evening, With his head bowed on his knees, Cuchulain stayed; Then Concobar sent that sweet-voiced maiden, And she, to comfort him, caressed his gray hair; In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast. Then Concobar, the craftiest of all men, Gathered his Druids around him ten by ten, And said, "Cuchulain will stay there and brood, For three more days in terrible silence, And then rise, and in rage slay us all. Go, cast magical illusions upon him, So he might fight the waves of the roaring sea." And ten by ten beneath a rowan tree, The Druids chanted, swaying in their hands Tall wands of alder and white rowan wands. In three days, Cuchulain moaned, Stood up, and came to the long sands alone: For four days, he battled the fierce tide; And the waves crashed over him, and he died.

119

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place,
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

Who would have thought that beauty fades like a dream?
These red lips, full of their sad pride,
Sad that no new miracle may come,
Troy vanished in one grand funeral shine,
And Usna's children also perished.

We and the working world are moving on:
Among men's souls, that tremble and make way,
Like the pale waters in their winter flow,
Beneath the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this solitary face.

Bow down, archangels, in your shadowy realm:
Before you existed, or any hearts began to beat,
A weary and kind one lingered by His side;
He created the world to be a grassy path
Before her wandering feet.

120

THE ROSE OF PEACE

If Michael, leader of God's host
When Heaven and Hell are met,
Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post
He would his deeds forget.

Brooding no more upon God's wars
In his Divine homestead,
He would go weave out of the stars
A chaplet for your head.

And all folk seeing him bow down,
And white stars tell your praise,
Would come at last to God's great town,
Led on by gentle ways;

And God would bid His warfare cease.
Saying all things were well;
And softly make a rosy peace,
A peace of Heaven with Hell.

If Michael, the leader of God’s army, When Heaven and Hell meet, Looked down at you from Heaven’s doorway, He would forget his deeds. No longer troubled by God’s battles In his holy home, He would weave a crown from the stars To place upon your head. And everyone who saw him would bow down, And the white stars would sing your praises, They would finally arrive at God’s great city, Guided by gentle paths; And God would call for His wars to end, Saying that all was well; And would quietly create a rosy peace, A peace between Heaven and Hell.

121

THE ROSE OF BATTLE

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand.
Turn if you may from battles never done,
I call, as they go by me one by one,
Danger no refuge holds; and war no peace,
For him who hears love sing and never cease,
Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:
But gather all for whom no love hath made
A woven silence, or but came to cast
A song into the air, and singing past
To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you
Who have sought more than is in rain or dew
122Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,
Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,
Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips
And wage God's battles in the long gray ships.
The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,
To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;
God's bell has claimed them by the little cry
Of their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
Beauty grown sad with its eternity
Made you of us, and of the dim gray sea.
Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,
For God has bid them share an equal fate;
And when at last defeated in His wars,
They have gone down under the same white stars,
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of the World!
The tall, intricately woven sails flap open
Above the flowing tides of hours, stirring the air,
And God's bell buoy floats on the water's care;
While hushed by fear, or filled with hope, a group
With wind-sprayed hair gathers around.
Turn away if you can from battles that never end,
I call, as they pass by me one by one,
Danger offers no safe haven; and war, no peace,
For those who hear love sing and never cease,
Beside her clean hearth, in her quiet shade:
But gather all for whom no love has made
A woven silence, or only came to cast
A song into the air, then drifting past
To greet the pale dawn; and gather you
Who have sought more than is found in rain or dew
122Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,
Or sighs in the midst of wandering, starry joy,
Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips
And fights God's battles in the long gray ships.
The sad, the lonely, the unsatisfied,
To these Old Night shall reveal all her mystery;
God's bell has claimed them with the little cry
Of their sad hearts, that cannot live nor die.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of the World!
You, too, have come where the dim tides crash
Against the shores of sorrow, and heard the ring
Of the bell that calls us onward; the sweet distant thing.
Beauty, heavy with its eternity,
Made you of us, and of the dim gray sea.
Our long ships release intricately woven sails and wait,
For God has commanded them to share a common fate;
And when finally defeated in His battles,
They have sunk beneath the same white stars,
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that cannot live nor die.

123

A FAERY SONG

Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania, who lay in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.

Sung by the fairy people over Diarmuid and Grania, who were resting in their bridal sleep beneath a Cromlech.

We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:

Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:

Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:

Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.

We who are old, old and happy,
Oh so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If everything were told:

Give to these children, fresh from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long, dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:

Give to these children, fresh from the world,
Rest far from people.
Is there anything better, anything better?
Then tell us:

Us who are old, old and happy,
Oh so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If everything were told.

124

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

I will get up and go now, and head to Innisfree,
And build a small cabin there, made of clay and branches:
I will have nine rows of beans there, and a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the buzzing glade.

And I’ll find some peace there, because peace comes slowly,
Falling from the morning mist to where the cricket sings;
There, midnight glimmers, and noon has a purple glow,
And evening is filled with the sound of linnets' wings.

I will get up and go now, because day and night
I hear the lake water lapping softly by the shore;
While I stand on the road, or on the gray pavement,
I hear it in the depths of my heart.

125

A CRADLE SONG

"Coth yani me von gilli beg,
'N heur ve thu more a creena."

The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.

God's laughing in heaven
To see you so good;
The Shining Seven
Are gay with His mood.

I kiss you and kiss you,
My pigeon, my own;
Ah, how I shall miss you
When you have grown.

"Coth yani me von gilli beg,
'No more will you cry."

The angels are leaning
Over your bed;
They're tired of hanging out
With the whimpering dead.

God's laughing in heaven
To see you so sweet;
The Shining Seven
Are happy with His vibe.

I kiss you and kiss you,
My darling, my own;
Ah, how I will miss you
When you've grown.

126

THE PITY OF LOVE

A pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love:
The folk who are buying and selling
The clouds on their journey above
The cold wet winds ever blowing
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-gray waters are flowing
Threaten the head that I love.

A sadness that's hard to express
Is hidden in the heart of love:
The people who are trading and dealing
The clouds on their path above
The chilly, wet winds always blowing
And the dim hazel grove
Where murky waters are flowing
Threaten the one I love.

127

THE SORROW OF LOVE

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears
And all the trouble of her labouring ships,
And all the trouble of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

The argument of the sparrows in the eaves,
The bright full moon and the star-filled sky,
And the loud song of the endlessly singing leaves,
Had hidden away the earth's old, tired cries.

Then you arrived with those red, sorrowful lips,
And with you came all the world's tears
And all the struggles of her hardworking ships,
And all the challenges of her countless years.

Now the sparrows fighting in the eaves,
The pale moon, the white stars above,
And the loud chanting of the restless leaves,
Are shaken by the earth's old, tired cries.

128

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty will love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

When you're old and gray and tired,
And dozing by the fire, pick up this book,
And take your time reading, and dream of the gentle look
Your eyes used to have, and their deep shadows;

So many loved your joyful moments,
And admired your beauty, whether their love was real or not;
But one man loved the wandering spirit in you,
And cherished the sorrows of your changing face.

And leaning down beside the glowing embers,
Whisper, a bit sadly, how love slipped away
And walked upon the mountains above
And hid his face among the multitude of stars.

129

THE WHITE BIRDS

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
130For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

I wish we were, my love, white birds on the sea foam!
We grow tired of the meteor's flame before it can fade away;
And the glow of the blue twilight star, hanging low on the horizon,
Has stirred in our hearts, my love, a sadness that won’t go away.

A tiredness comes from those dreamers, covered in dew, like the lily and rose;
Ah, don’t dream of them, my love, or the fleeting meteor's flame,
Or the blue star's glow that hangs low as the dew settles:
130For I wish we could be transformed into white birds on the wandering foam: you and I!

I am haunted by countless islands and many shores of the fair folk,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow would be far away;
Soon away from the rose and the lily, and the worries of the flames would we be,
If we were only white birds, my love, floating on the sea foam!

131

A DREAM OF DEATH

I dreamed that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand;
And they had nailed the boards above her face
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than thy first love,
But now lies under boards.

I dreamed that someone had died in a strange place
Far from any familiar hand;
And they had nailed the boards over her face
The villagers of that land,
Wondering how to bury her in that isolation,
And put up a cross they made from two pieces of wood,
And surrounded it with cypress trees;
And left her under the uncaring stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than your first love,
But now lies beneath these boards.

132

A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT

All the heavy days are over;
Leave the body's coloured pride
Underneath the grass and clover,
With the feet laid side by side.

One with her are mirth and duty,
Bear the gold embroidered dress,
For she needs not her sad beauty,
To the scented oaken press.

Hers the kiss of Mother Mary,
The long hair is on her face;
Still she goes with footsteps wary,
Full of earth's old timid grace.

With white feet of angels seven
Her white feet go glimmering
And above the deep of heaven,
Flame on flame and wing on wing.

All the weighty days are gone;
Leave the body's colorful pride
Under the grass and clover,
With the feet laid side by side.

Along with her are joy and duty,
Wearing the gold-embroidered dress,
For she doesn't need her sad beauty,
In the fragrant oak press.

Hers the kiss of Mother Mary,
Her long hair falls on her face;
Yet she walks with cautious footsteps,
Full of earth's old timid grace.

With the white feet of seven angels,
Her white feet shine and gleam
And above the depths of heaven,
Flame on flame and wing on wing.

133

WHO GOES WITH FERGUS?

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fears no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon Love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.

Who will go for a drive with Fergus now,
And explore the deep woods' tangled shade,
And dance on the flat shore?
Young man, raise your russet brow,
And lift your gentle eyelids, girl,
And stop dwelling on hopes and fears.

And no longer turn away and ponder
Love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus commands the shining chariots,
And rules the shadows of the woods,
And the white surface of the dim sea
And all the scattered wandering stars.

134

THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND

He stood among a crowd at Drumahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth made of him her sleepy care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It seemed they raised their little silver heads,
And sang how day a Druid twilight sheds
Upon a dim, green, well-beloved isle,
Where people love beside star-laden seas;
How Time may never mar their faery vows
Under the woven roofs of quicken boughs:
The singing shook him out of his new ease.

He wandered by the sands of Lisadill;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
135Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its gray and muddy mouth
Sang how somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race;
And how beneath those three times blessed skies
A Danaan fruitage makes a shower of moons,
And as it falls awakens leafy tunes:
And at that singing he was no more wise.

He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers: without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
Now that deep earth has drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Told where, ah, little, all-unneeded voice!
Old Silence bids a lonely folk rejoice,
And chaplet their calm brows with leafage cool,
And how, when fades the sea-strewn rose of day,
A gentle feeling wraps them like a fleece,
And all their trouble dies into its peace:
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.

He slept under the hill of Lugnagall;
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
136Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that old earth had taken man and all:
Were not the worms that spired about his bones
A-telling with their low and reedy cry,
Of how God leans His hands out of the sky,
To bless that isle with honey in His tones;
That none may feel the power of squall and wave
And no one any leaf-crowned dancer miss
Until He burn up Nature with a kiss:
The man has found no comfort in the grave.

He stood in a crowd at Drumahair; His heart was completely taken by a silken dress, And he had finally experienced some tenderness, Before earth claimed him as her sleepy care; But when a man dumped fish into a pile, It seemed they lifted their little silver heads, And sang about how day brings a Druid twilight To a dim, green, well-loved isle, Where people enjoy life by starry seas; How time will never ruin their fairy promises Under the woven roofs of quickening branches: The singing shook him out of his newfound ease. He wandered by the sands of Lisadill; His thoughts were filled with worries about money, And he had finally had some sensible years Before they buried him under the hill; But as he walked by a muddy spot, A lug-worm with its gray, muddy mouth Sang of a cheerful, joyous, gentle people Who lived somewhere to the north, west, or south; And how beneath those three times-blessed skies A Danaan harvest creates a shower of moons, And as it falls, it inspires leafy tunes: And from that singing, he became less wise. He pondered beside the well of Scanavin, He thought about his mockers: without a doubt His sudden revenge would be a tale from the countryside, Now that deep earth had taken his body in; But one tiny knot-grass growing by the pool Spoke to where, oh, little, all-unneeded voice! Old Silence urges a lonely folk to rejoice, And crown their calm brows with cool leaves, And how, when the sea-strewn rose of day fades, A gentle feeling wraps them like a fleece, And all their troubles dissolve into its peace: The tale pushed his fine angry mood away. He slept under the hill of Lugnagall; And could have finally known a peaceful sleep Under that cold and misty peak, Now that old earth had taken man and all: Weren't the worms swirling around his bones Whispering with their low and reedy cries, Of how God reaches His hands from the sky, To bless that isle with sweetness in His tones; So that no one feels the sting of squalls and waves And no one misses any leaf-crowned dancer Until He incinerates Nature with a kiss: The man found no comfort in the grave.

137

THE DEDICATION TO A BOOK OF STORIES SELECTED FROM THE IRISH NOVELISTS

There was a green branch hung with many a bell
When her own people ruled in wave-worn Eire;
And from its murmuring greenness, calm of faery,
A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell.

It charmed away the merchant from his guile,
And turned the farmer's memory from his cattle,
And hushed in sleep the roaring ranks of battle,
For all who heard it dreamed a little while.

Ah, Exiles wandering over many seas,
Spinning at all times Eire's good to-morrow!
Ah, worldwide Nation, always growing Sorrow!
I also bear a bell branch full of ease.

I tore it from green boughs winds tossed and hurled,
Green boughs of tossing always, weary, weary!
I tore it from the green boughs of old Eire,
138The willow of the many-sorrowed world.

Ah, Exiles, wandering over many lands!
My bell branch murmurs: the gay bells bring laughter,
Leaping to shake a cobweb from the rafter;
The sad bells bow the forehead on the hands.

A honeyed ringing: under the new skies
They bring you memories of old village faces,
Cabins gone now, old well-sides, old dear places;
And men who loved the cause that never dies.

There was a green branch hung with many bells
When her own people ruled in weathered Eire;
And from its whispering greenness, calm of faery,
A Druid kindness fell on all who heard it.

It drew the merchant away from his deceit,
And made the farmer forget about his cattle,
And lulled the roaring troops of battle to sleep,
For everyone who heard it dreamed for a little while.

Ah, Exiles wandering across many seas,
Always hoping for a better tomorrow for Eire!
Ah, global Nation, always growing in sorrow!
I also carry a bell branch full of peace.

I ripped it from the green branches tossed by the winds,
Green branches forever swaying, tired, tired!
I took it from the green branches of old Eire,
138 The willow of the world filled with sorrows.

Ah, Exiles, wandering through many lands!
My bell branch whispers: the cheerful bells bring laughter,
Leaping to shake a cobweb from the rafters;
The sad bells bow their heads into their hands.

A sweet ringing: under the new skies
They bring you memories of old village faces,
Cabins gone now, old wells, beloved places;
And men who loved the cause that never dies.

139

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

I had a chair at every hearth,
When no one turned to see,
With "Look at that old fellow there,
"And who may he be?"
And therefore do I wander now,
And the fret lies on me.

The road-side trees keep murmuring
Ah, wherefore murmur ye,
As in the old days long gone by,
Green oak and poplar tree?
The well-known faces are all gone
And the fret lies on me.

I had a place by every fireplace,
When no one bothered to look,
With "Check out that old guy over there,
"And who is he?"
And that's why I wander now,
And the worry weighs on me.

The trees by the road keep whispering,
Ah, why do you murmur,
As in the old days long past,
Green oak and poplar trees?
The familiar faces are all gone
And the worry weighs on me.

140

THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN

The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day;
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.

Once, while he nodded on a chair,
At the moth-hour of eve,
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.

"I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
"For people die and die";
And after cried he, "God forgive!
"My body spake, not I!"

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
141And stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind;
And God covered the world with shade,
And whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

"Mavrone, mavrone! the man has died,
"While I slept on the chair";
He roused his horse out of its sleep,
And rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door:
"Father! you come again!"

"And is the poor man dead?" he cried,
"He died an hour ago,"
The old priest Peter Gilligan
142In grief swayed to and fro.

"When you were gone, he turned and died
"As merry as a bird."
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.

"He who hath made the night of stars
"For souls, who tire and bleed,
"Sent one of His great angels down
"To help me in my need.

"He who is wrapped in purple robes,
"With planets in His care,
"Had pity on the least of things
"Asleep upon a chair."

The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was tired day and night;
Half of his congregation were in their beds,
Or beneath the green earth lay.

Once, while he dozed in a chair,
At twilight’s hour,
Another poor man called for him,
And he started to feel sorrow.

"I have no rest, no joy, no peace,
"For people just keep dying";
And then he cried, "God forgive!
"It was my body speaking, not me!"

He knelt, resting on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the twilight faded from the fields,
141And the stars began to peek.

They slowly multiplied into millions,
And leaves trembled in the wind;
And God covered the world with shadows,
And whispered to humanity.

As the sparrows chirped
And the moths returned once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

"Oh dear, oh dear! The man has died,
"While I slept in the chair";
He woke his horse from its sleep,
And rode without much care.

He rode now like never before,
Through rocky paths and marsh;
The sick man's wife opened the door:
"Father! You’ve come again!"

"And is the poor man dead?" he cried,
"He died an hour ago,"
The old priest Peter Gilligan
142In sadness swayed back and forth.

"When you left, he turned and died
"As cheerful as a bird."
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt at that word.

"He who made the night of stars
"For souls that tire and bleed,
"Sent one of His great angels down
"To assist me in my need.

"He who is wrapped in purple robes,
"With planets in His care,
"Had compassion on the smallest things
"Asleep upon a chair."

143

THE TWO TREES

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There, through bewildered branches, go
Winged Loves borne on in gentle strife,
Tossing and tossing to and fro
The flaming circle of our life.
When looking on their shaken hair,
144And dreaming how they dance and dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows,
With broken boughs, and blackened leaves,
And roots half hidden under snows
Driven by a storm that ever grieves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Peering and flying to and fro
To see men's souls bartered and bought.
When they are heard upon the wind,
And when they shake their wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

Beloved, look into your own heart,
The sacred tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches begin,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colors of its fruit
Have filled the stars with cheerful light;
The strength of its hidden roots
Has brought calm to the night;
The swaying of its leafy crown
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music unite,
Murmuring a magical song for you.
There, through tangled branches, fly
Winged Loves carried in gentle struggle,
Tossing and turning to and fro
The fiery circle of our life.
When you look at their disheveled hair,
144And dream of how they dance and dart,
Your eyes fill with tender concern:
Beloved, look into your own heart.

Look no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their clever tricks,
Hold up before us as they pass,
Or just look for a little while;
For there, a fatal image forms,
With broken branches and blackened leaves,
And roots half-buried under snow
Driven by a storm that always grieves.
For everything turns to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons possess,
The glass of outer weariness,
Created when God rested long ago.
There, through the broken branches, fly
The ravens of restless thought;
Peering and fluttering to and fro
To see souls traded and bought.
When they are heard upon the wind,
And when they shake their wings; alas!
Your gentle eyes grow cold:
Look no more in the bitter glass.

145

TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES

Know, that I would accounted be
True brother of that company,
Who sang to sweeten Ireland's wrong,
Ballad and story, rann and song;
Nor be I any less of them,
Because the red-rose-bordered hem
Of her, whose history began
Before God made the angelic clan,
Trails all about the written page;
For in the world's first blossoming age
The light fall of her flying feet
Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;
And still the starry candles flare
To help her light foot here and there;
And still the thoughts of Ireland brood
146Upon her holy quietude.

Nor may I less be counted one
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because to him, who ponders well,
My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
Of the dim wisdoms old and deep,
That God gives unto man in sleep.
For the elemental beings go
About my table to and fro.
In flood and fire and clay and wind,
They huddle from man's pondering mind;
Yet he who treads in austere ways
May surely meet their ancient gaze.
Man ever journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!

While still I may, I write for you
The love I lived, the dream I knew.
From our birthday, until we die,
Is but the winking of an eye;
And we, our singing and our love,
The mariners of night above,
And all the wizard things that go
147About my table to and fro.
Are passing on to where may be,
In truth's consuming ecstasy
No place for love and dream at all;
For God goes by with white foot-fall.
I cast my heart into my rhymes,
That you, in the dim coming times,
May know how my heart went with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.

Know that I would be considered a
True brother of that group,
Who sang to ease Ireland's pain,
Ballad and story, verse and song;
And I’m no less a part of them,
Because the red-rose-bordered hem
Of her, whose history began
Before God created the angelic clan,
Trails all over the written page;
For in the world’s first blooming age
The gentle fall of her flying feet
Made Ireland’s heart begin to beat;
And still the starry candles shine
To guide her light foot here and there;
And still the thoughts of Ireland linger
146Upon her sacred stillness.

Nor can I be counted any less
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because for those who reflect deeply,
My verses reveal more than their rhymes
Of the ancient wisdoms, old and profound,
That God grants to man in sleep.
For the elemental beings move
About my table back and forth.
In flood and fire and clay and wind,
They huddle away from man's pondering mind;
Yet he who walks in serious paths
May surely meet their ancient gaze.
Man always journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!

While I still can, I write for you
About the love I lived, the dream I knew.
From our birthday until we die,
Is just the blink of an eye;
And we, with our singing and our love,
The sailors of the night above,
And all the magical things that move
147About my table back and forth.
Are passing on to where there may be,
In truth’s consuming ecstasy
No place for love and dreams at all;
For God walks by with silent footsteps.
I pour my heart into my verses,
So that you, in the distant times ahead,
May know how my heart journeyed with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.

149

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE

150

O Rose, thou art sick.

O Rose, you are sick.

William Blake.

151

TO
FLORENCE FARR

153

Maurteen Bruin

Bridget Bruin

Shawn Bruin

Mary Bruin

Dad Hart

A Fairy Child

The Scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County of Sligo, and at a remote time.

The story takes place in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in County Sligo, during a distant time.

155

Scene.—A room with a hearth on the floor in the middle of a deep alcove to the Right. There are benches in the alcove and a table; and a crucifix on the wall. The alcove is full of a glow of light from the fire. There is an open door facing the audience to the Left, and to the left of this a bench. Through the door one can see the forest. It is night, but the moon or a late sunset glimmers through the trees and carries the eye far off into a vague, mysterious world. MAURTEEN BRUIN, SHAWN BRUIN, and BRIDGET BRUIN sit in the alcove at the table or about the fire. They are dressed in the costume of some remote time, and near them sits an old priest, FATHER HART. He may be dressed as a friar. There is food and drink upon the table. MARY BRUIN stands by the door reading a book. If she looks up she can see through the door into the wood.

Scene.—A room with a fireplace in the center of a deep alcove on the right. There are benches and a table in the alcove, along with a crucifix on the wall. The alcove is filled with warm light from the fire. An open door is facing the audience on the left, with a bench to its left. Through the door, the forest is visible. It’s night, but the moon or a late sunset shines through the

BRIDGET

Because I bid her clean the pots for supper
She took that old book down out of the thatch;
She has been doubled over it ever since.
We should be deafened by her groans and moans
Had she to work as some do, Father Hart;
156Get up at dawn like me and mend and scour
Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.

Because I asked her to clean the pots for dinner
She took that old book down from the thatch;
She’s been bent over it ever since.
We would be overwhelmed by her groans and moans
If she had to work like some do, Father Hart;
156Get up at dawn like me and scrub and clean
Or ride out into the wild night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.

SHAWN

Mother, you are too cross.

Mom, you are too angry.

BRIDGET

You've married her,
And fear to vex her and so take her part.

You married her,
And you're afraid to upset her, so you defend her.

MAURTEEN (to FATHER HART)

MAURTEEN (to DAD HART)

It is but right that youth should side with youth;
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times,
And is too deep just now in the old book!
But do not blame her greatly; she will grow
As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree
When but the moons of marriage dawn and die
For half a score of times.

It's only fair that young people stick together;
She sometimes argues with my wife,
And right now she's too caught up in that old book!
But don’t criticize her too much; she'll become
As calm as a puffball in a tree
Once the moons of marriage come and go
For a good ten years.

FATHER HART

Their hearts are wild,
As be the hearts of birds, till children come.

Their hearts are wild,
Like the hearts of birds, until children arrive.

BRIDGET

She would not mind the kettle, milk the cow,
157Or even lay the knives and spread the cloth.

She wouldn’t care about the kettle, milk the cow,
157Or even set out the knives and lay the tablecloth.

SHAWN

Mother, if only——

Mom, if only——

MAURTEEN

MAUREEN

Shawn, this is half empty;
Go, bring up the best bottle that we have.

Shawn, this is half full;
Go, get the best bottle we have.

FATHER HART

I never saw her read a book before,
What can it be?

I’ve never seen her read a book before,
What could it be?

MAURTEEN (to SHAWN)

What are you waiting for?
You must not shake it when you draw the cork;
It's precious wine, so take your time about it.

What are you waiting for?
Don’t shake it when you pop the cork;
It’s valuable wine, so take your time with it.

(To Priest.) (SHAWN goes.)

(To Priest.) (SHAWN exits.)

There was a Spaniard wrecked at Ocris Head,
When I was young, and I have still some bottles.
He cannot bear to hear her blamed; the book
Has lain up in the thatch these fifty years;
My father told me my grandfather wrote it,
And killed a heifer for the binding of it—
But supper's spread, and we can talk and eat
158It was little good he got out of the book,
Because it filled his house with rambling fiddlers,
And rambling ballad-makers and the like.
The griddle-bread is there in front of you.
Colleen, what is the wonder in that book,
That you must leave the bread to cool? Had I
Or had my father read or written books
There were no stocking stuffed with yellow guineas
To come when I am dead to Shawn and you.

There was a Spaniard shipwrecked at Ocris Head,
When I was young, and I still have some bottles.
He can't stand to hear her criticized; the book
Has been tucked away in the thatch for fifty years;
My father told me my grandfather wrote it,
And killed a heifer for the binding of it—
But dinner's ready, and we can talk and eat.
158He didn’t get much out of the book,
Because it filled his house with wandering fiddlers,
And wandering ballad-makers and the like.
The griddle-bread is right in front of you.
Colleen, what’s so special about that book,
That you must let the bread cool? Had I
Or had my father read or written books,
There would be no stocking stuffed with yellow guineas
To come when I am gone to Shawn and you.

FATHER HART

Father Hart

You should not fill your head with foolish dreams.
What are you reading?

You shouldn't waste your time on silly dreams.
What are you reading?

MARY

How a Princess Edane,
A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard
A voice singing on a May Eve like this,
And followed half awake and half asleep,
Until she came into the Land of Faery,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.
And she is still there, busied with a dance
Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood,
159Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top.

How Princess Edane,
The daughter of a King of Ireland, heard
A voice singing on a May Eve like this,
And followed, half awake and half asleep,
Until she arrived in the Land of Faery,
Where no one gets old and serious,
Where no one becomes old and sly,
Where no one grows old and bitter-tongued.
And she is still there, lost in a dance
Deep in the dewy shadows of a forest,
159Or where stars walk upon a mountaintop.

MAURTEEN

Persuade the colleen to put down the book;
My grandfather would mutter just such things,
And he was no judge of a dog or a horse,
And any idle boy could blarney him;
Just speak your mind.

Persuade the girl to put down the book;
My grandfather would say things like that,
And he wasn't good at judging dogs or horses,
And any lazy kid could sweet-talk him;
Just say what you really think.

FATHER HART

DAD HART

Put it away, my colleen;
God spreads the heavens above us like great wings
And gives a little round of deeds and days,
And then come the wrecked angels and set snares,
And bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams,
Until the heart is puffed with pride and goes
Half shuddering and half joyous from God's peace;
And it was some wrecked angel, blind with tears,
Who flattered Edane's heart with merry words.
My colleen, I have seen some other girls
Restless and ill at ease, but years went by
And they grew like their neighbours and were glad
In minding children, working at the churn,
And gossiping of weddings and of wakes;
For life moves out of a red flare of dreams
Into a common light of common hours,
160Until old age bring the red flare again.

Put it away, girl;
God spreads the sky above us like big wings
And gives us a series of deeds and days,
Then come the fallen angels and set traps,
Baiting them with bright hopes and heavy dreams,
Until the heart swells with pride and leaves
Half trembling and half joyful from God's peace;
And it was some fallen angel, blinded by tears,
Who flattered Edane's heart with cheerful words.
My girl, I’ve seen some other girls
Restless and uneasy, but over the years
They grew like their neighbors and found joy
In caring for children, working at the churn,
And chatting about weddings and wakes;
For life moves from a bright burst of dreams
Into a plain light of ordinary hours,
160Until old age brings the bright burst again.

MAURTEEN

That's true—but she's too young to know it's true.

That's true—but she's too young to realize it's true.

BRIDGET

She's old enough to know that it is wrong
To mope and idle.

She's old enough to know that it's wrong
To sulk and waste time.

MAURTEEN

I've little blame for her;
She's dull when my big son is in the fields,
And that and maybe this good woman's tongue
Have driven her to hide among her dreams
Like children from the dark under the bed-clothes.

I don't blame her too much;
She's boring when my eldest son is working in the fields,
And that, along with this woman's sharp tongue,
Has made her retreat into her dreams
Like kids hiding from the dark under the sheets.

BRIDGET

She'd never do a turn if I were silent.

She wouldn't do a spin if I stayed quiet.

MAURTEEN

And maybe it is natural upon May Eve
To dream of the good people. But tell me, girl,
If you've the branch of blessed quicken wood
That women hang upon the post of the door
That they may send good luck into the house?
161Remember they may steal new-married brides
After the fall of twilight on May Eve,
Or what old women mutter at the fire
Is but a pack of lies.

And maybe it’s normal on May Eve
To dream of the good folks. But tell me, girl,
Do you have the branch of blessed quicken wood
That women hang on the door post
To bring good luck into the house?
161Just remember they might steal newly married brides
After the sun sets on May Eve,
Or whatever old women say by the fire
Is just a bunch of nonsense.

FATHER HART

Father Hart

It may be truth.
We do not know the limit of those powers
God has permitted to the evil spirits
For some mysterious end. You have done right (to MARY);
It's well to keep old innocent customs up.

Could be true.
We don’t know the extent of the powers
God has allowed the evil spirits
For some unknown purpose. You were right (to MARY);
It's good to maintain old innocent traditions.

(MARY BRUIN has taken a bough of quicken wood from a seat and hung it on a nail in the door-post. A girl child strangely dressed, perhaps in faery green, comes out of the wood and takes it away.)

(MARY BRUIN has taken a branch of quicken wood from a seat and hung it on a nail in the doorpost. A girl, oddly dressed—maybe in fairy green—comes out of the woods and takes it away.)

MARY

I had no sooner hung it on the nail
Before a child ran up out of the wind;
She has caught it in her hand and fondled it;
Her face is pale as water before dawn.

I had barely hung it on the nail
Before a child ran up from the wind;
She caught it in her hand and played with it;
Her face is as pale as water before dawn.

FATHER HART

162Whose child can this be?

Whose kid is this?

MAURTEEN

No one's child at all.
She often dreams that some one has gone by,
When there was nothing but a puff of wind.

No one's kid at all.
She often dreams that someone has passed by,
When there was nothing but a breeze.

MARY

They have taken away the blessed quicken wood,
They will not bring good luck into the house;
Yet I am glad that I was courteous to them,
For are not they, likewise, children of God?

They have taken away the blessed quickenwood,
They won't bring good luck into the house;
Yet I'm glad I was kind to them,
For aren't they, too, children of God?

FATHER HART

Colleen, they are the children of the fiend,
And they have power until the end of Time,
When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle
And hack them into pieces.

Colleen, they are the children of the devil,
And they hold power until the end of time,
When God will face them in a great battle
And cut them into pieces.

MARY

He will smile,
Father, perhaps, and open His great door.

He'll smile,
Father, maybe, and open His big door.

FATHER HART

Father Hart

163Did but the lawless angels see that door
They would fall, slain by everlasting peace;
And when such angels knock upon our doors,
Who goes with them must drive through the same storm.

163If only the rebellious angels saw that door,
They would fall, defeated by eternal peace;
And when those angels come knocking at our doors,
Anyone who goes with them must face the same storm.

(A thin old arm comes round the door-post and knocks and beckons. It is clearly seen in the silvery light. MARY BRUIN goes to door and stands in it for a moment. MAURTEEN BRUIN is busy filling FATHER HART'S plate. BRIDGET BRUIN stirs the fire.)

(An old, thin arm reaches around the doorpost and knocks, then gestures. It's clearly visible in the silver light. MARY BRUIN walks to the door and stands there for a moment. MAURTEEN BRUIN is busy serving DAD HART's plate. BRIDGET BRUIN stirs the fire.)

MARY (coming to table)

MARY (approaching the table)

There's somebody out there that beckoned me
And raised her hand as though it held a cup,
And she was drinking from it, so it may be
That she is thirsty.

There's someone out there who called to me
And raised her hand like she was holding a cup,
And she was drinking from it, so maybe
She is thirsty.

(She takes milk from the table and carries it to the door.)

(She picks up the milk from the table and walks it to the door.)

FATHER HART

Father Hart

That will be the child
That you would have it was no child at all.

That will be the kid.
That you would have it was not a child at all.

BRIDGET

BRIDGE

164And maybe, Father, what he said was true;
For there is not another night in the year
So wicked as to-night.

164And maybe, Dad, what he said was true;
Because there isn’t another night in the year
So evil as tonight.

MAURTEEN

Nothing can harm us
While the good Father's underneath our roof.

Nothing can hurt us.
As long as the good Father is under our roof.

MARY

A little queer old woman dressed in green.

A slightly strange old woman dressed in green.

BRIDGET

The good people beg for milk and fire
Upon May Eve—woe to the house that gives,
For they have power upon it for a year.

The kind folks ask for milk and fire
On May Eve—beware of the house that provides,
Because they will have power over it for a year.

MAURTEEN

Hush, woman, hush!

Be quiet, woman, be quiet!

BRIDGET

BRIDGE

She's given milk away.
I knew she would bring evil on the house.

She has given away milk.
I knew she would bring trouble to the home.

MAURTEEN

165Who was it?

Who was it?

MARY

Both the tongue and face were strange.

Both the tongue and the face were strange.

MAURTEEN

Some strangers came last week to Clover Hill;
She must be one of them.

Some strangers came to Clover Hill last week;
She must be one of them.

BRIDGET

I am afraid.

I’m scared.

FATHER HART

The Cross will keep all evil from the house
While it hangs there.

The Cross will keep all evil away from the house
As long as it hangs there.

MAURTEEN

Come, sit beside me, colleen,
And put away your dreams of discontent,
For I would have you light up my last days,
Like the good glow of the turf; and when I die
You'll be the wealthiest hereabout, for, colleen,
I have a stocking full of yellow guineas
166Hidden away where nobody can find it.

Come, sit beside me, girl,
And set aside your unhappy dreams,
Because I want you to brighten my final days,
Like the warm glow of the fire; and when I pass away
You'll be the richest around, because, girl,
I have a sock full of gold coins
166Stashed away where no one can see it.

BRIDGET

You are the fool of every pretty face,
And I must spare and pinch that my son's wife
May have all kinds of ribbons for her head.

You fall for every pretty face,
And I have to save and budget so my son's wife
Can have all sorts of ribbons for her hair.

MAURTEEN

Do not be cross; she is a right good girl!
The butter is by your elbow, Father Hart.
My colleen, have not Fate and Time and Change
Done well for me and for old Bridget there?
We have a hundred acres of good land,
And sit beside each other at the fire.
I have this reverend Father for my friend,
I look upon your face and my son's face—
We've put his plate by yours—and here he comes,
And brings with him the only thing we have lacked,
Abundance of good wine. (SHAWN comes in.) Stir up the fire,
And put new turf upon it till it blaze;
To watch the turf-smoke coiling from the fire,
And feel content and wisdom in your heart,
This is the best of life; when we are young
167We long to tread a way none trod before,
But find the excellent old way through love,
And through the care of children, to the hour
For bidding Fate and Time and Change goodbye.

Don't be upset; she’s a really good girl!
The butter is right next to you, Father Hart.
My dear, haven’t Fate, Time, and Change
Been good to me and to old Bridget there?
We have a hundred acres of good land,
And we sit next to each other by the fire.
I have this reverend Father as my friend,
I look at your face and my son’s face—
We’ve placed his plate next to yours—and here he comes,
Bringing with him the one thing we’ve been missing,
A lot of good wine. (SHAWN enters.) Stir up the fire,
And add new turf until it flames;
To watch the smoke rise from the fire,
And feel peace and wisdom in your heart,
This is the best part of life; when we are young,
167We want to pave a path no one has walked before,
But discover the wonderful old path through love,
And through caring for children, to the moment
When we say goodbye to Fate, Time, and Change.

(MARY takes a sod of turf from the fire and goes out through the door. SHAWN follows her and meets her coming in.)

(MARY grabs a sod of turf from the fire and heads out the door. SHAWN follows her and runs into her as she comes back in.)

SHAWN

What is it draws you to the chill o' the wood?
There is a light among the stems of the trees
That makes one shiver.

What is it that draws you to the chill of the woods?
There is a light among the trunks of the trees
That makes you shiver.

MARY

A little queer old man
Made me a sign to show he wanted fire
To light his pipe.

An oddly strange old guy
Gave me a signal to indicate he needed fire
To light his pipe.

BRIDGET

You've given milk and fire
Upon the unluckiest night of the year and brought,
For all you know, evil upon the house.
Before you married you were idle and fine
And went about with ribbons on your head;
And now—no, Father, I will speak my mind—
168She is not a fitting wife for any man——

You've brought milk and fire.
On the unluckiest night of the year and may have brought,
For all we know, misfortune upon the house.
Before you got married, you were carefree and elegant
And wandered around with ribbons in your hair;
And now—no, Father, I need to be honest—
168She isn't a suitable wife for any man——

SHAWN

Be quiet, Mother!

Be quiet, Mom!

MAURTEEN

You are much too cross.

You are way too upset.

MARY

What do I care if I have given this house,
Where I must hear all day a bitter tongue,
Into the power of faeries!

What do I care if I’ve handed over this house,
Where I have to listen to a bitter tongue all day,
To the control of faeries!

BRIDGET

You know well
How calling the good people by that name,
Or talking of them over much at all,
May bring all kinds of evil on the house.

You know perfectly well
That calling good people by that name,
Or talking about them too much at all,
Can bring all sorts of trouble to the home.

MARY

Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house!
Let me have all the freedom I have lost;
Work when I will and idle when I will!
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind.
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
169And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

Come, fairies, take me away from this boring house!
Let me have back all the freedom I've lost;
Work whenever I want and relax whenever I want!
Fairies, come take me away from this dull world,
Because I want to ride with you on the wind.
Run on the surface of the wild tide,
169And dance on the mountains like a flame.

FATHER HART

DAD HART

You cannot know the meaning of your words.

You can't truly understand what your words mean.

MARY

Father, I am right weary of four tongues:
A tongue that is too crafty and too wise,
A tongue that is too godly and too grave,
A tongue that is more bitter than the tide,
And a kind tongue too full of drowsy love,
Of drowsy love and my captivity.

Father, I’m really tired of four kinds of speech:
One that’s too clever and too wise,
One that’s too pious and too serious,
One that’s more bitter than the sea,
And a sweet tongue that’s overflowing with lazy love,
With lazy love and my confinement.

(SHAWN BRUIN leads her to a seat at the left of the door.)

(SHAWN BRUIN guides her to a seat on the left side of the door.)

SHAWN

Do not blame me; I often lie awake
Thinking that all things trouble your bright head.
How beautiful it is—your broad pale forehead
Under a cloudy blossoming of hair!
Sit down beside me here—these are too old,
And have forgotten they were ever young.

Do not blame me; I often lie awake
Thinking about how everything worries your bright mind.
How beautiful it is—your wide pale forehead
Under a cloudy bloom of hair!
Sit down beside me here—these are too old,
And have forgotten they were ever young.

MARY

O, you are the great door-post of this house,
170And I the branch of blessed quicken wood,
And if I could I'd hang upon the post,
Till I had brought good luck into the house.

Oh, you are the strong support of this home,
170And I the branch of sacred ash wood,
And if I could, I’d hang on the post,
Until I brought good fortune into the house.

(She would put her arms about him, but looks shyly at the priest and lets her arms fall.)

(She would wrap her arms around him, but she glances shyly at the priest and lets her arms drop.)

FATHER HART

My daughter, take his hand—by love alone
God binds us to Himself and to the hearth,
That shuts us from the waste beyond His peace,
From maddening freedom and bewildering light.

My daughter, take his hand—it's love alone
That connects us to God and to our home,
Which keeps us safe from the chaos outside His peace,
From confusing freedom and overwhelming light.

SHAWN

Would that the world were mine to give it you,
And not its quiet hearths alone, but even
All that bewilderment of light and freedom,
If you would have it.

Would that the world were mine to give to you,
And not just its peaceful homes, but even
All that chaos of light and freedom,
If that's what you wanted.

MARY

I would take the world
And break it into pieces in my hands
To see you smile watching it crumble away.

I would seize the world.
And break it into pieces in my hands
To see you smile as it falls apart.

SHAWN

Then I would mould a world of fire and dew,
171With no one bitter, grave or over wise,
And nothing marred or old to do you wrong,
And crowd the enraptured quiet of the sky
With candles burning to your lonely face.

Then I would create a world of fire and dew,
171Where no one is bitter, serious, or overly wise,
And nothing is damaged or old to hurt you,
And fill the serene quiet of the sky
With candles glowing for your solitary face.

MARY

Your looks are all the candles that I need.

Your looks are all the light I need.

SHAWN

Once a fly dancing in a beam of the sun,
Or the light wind blowing out of the dawn,
Could fill your heart with dreams none other knew,
But now the indissoluble sacrament
Has mixed your heart that was most proud and cold
With my warm heart for ever; the sun and moon
Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll;
But your white spirit still walk by my spirit.

Once a fly dancing in a sunbeam,
Or the gentle breeze coming in with the dawn,
Could fill your heart with dreams no one else knew,
But now the unbreakable bond
Has intertwined your once proud and cold heart
With my warm heart forever; the sun and moon
Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll;
But your pure spirit will still walk alongside my spirit.

(A Voice singing in the wood.)

(A voice singing in the woods.)

MAURTEEN

There's some one singing. Why, it's but a child.
It sang, "The lonely of heart is withered away."
A strange song for a child, but she sings sweetly.
Listen, listen!

There's someone singing. Wait, it's just a child.
She sang, "The lonely at heart have withered away."
An unusual song for a child, but she sings beautifully.
Listen, listen!

(Goes to door.)

(Walks to the door.)

172

MARY

O, cling close to me,
Because I have said wicked things to-night.

Oh, stay near me,
Because I said some terrible things tonight.

THE VOICE

The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away.
While the faeries dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair,
And even the wise are merry of tongue;
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,
"When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung
The lonely of heart is withered away!"

The wind blows out from the gates of the day,
The wind sweeps over the lonely at heart,
And the lonely at heart fade away.
While the fairies dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a circle,
Waving their milk-white arms in the air;
For they can hear the wind laugh, whisper, and sing
Of a land where even the old are beautiful,
And even the wise are cheerful with their words;
But I heard a reed from Coolaney say,
"When the wind has laughed, whispered, and sung,
The lonely at heart fade away!"

MAURTEEN

Being happy, I would have all others happy,
So I will bring her in out of the cold.

Being happy, I want everyone else to be happy,
So I'll bring her in out of the cold.

(He brings in the faery child.)

(He brings in the fairy child.)

THE CHILD

The Kid

173I tire of winds and waters and pale lights.

173I’m tired of the winds, the waters, and the pale lights.

MAURTEEN

And that's no wonder, for when night has fallen
The wood's a cold and a bewildering place,
But you are welcome here.

And that's no surprise, because when night falls
The woods become a cold and confusing place,
But you’re welcome here.

THE CHILD

The Kid

I am welcome here.
For when I tire of this warm little house
There is one here that must away, away.

I feel welcome here.
Because when I get tired of this cozy little house
There’s someone here who needs to leave, to leave.

MAURTEEN

O, listen to her dreamy and strange talk.
Are you not cold?

Oh, listen to her dreamy and strange conversation.
Aren't you cold?

THE CHILD

THE KID

I will crouch down beside you,
For I have run a long, long way this night.

I’ll sit down next to you,
Because I've traveled a really long way tonight.

BRIDGET

You have a comely shape.

You have an attractive figure.

MAURTEEN

174Your hair is wet.

Your hair's wet.

BRIDGET

BRIDGE

I'll warm your chilly feet.

I'll warm your cold feet.

MAURTEEN

You have come indeed
A long, long way—for I have never seen
Your pretty face—and must be tired and hungry,
Here is some bread and wine.

You've really arrived
A long, long way—because I've never seen
Your lovely face—and you must be tired and hungry,
Here’s some bread and wine.

THE CHILD

THE KID

The wine is bitter.
Old mother, have you no sweet food for me?

The wine tastes bitter.
Mom, don’t you have anything sweet to eat?

BRIDGET

I have some honey.

I have honey.

(She goes into the next room.)

(She walks into the next room.)

MAURTEEN

You have coaxing ways,
The mother was quite cross before you came.

You have a knack for convincing people,
The mother was really upset before you arrived.

(BRIDGET returns with the honey and fills a porringer with milk.)

(BRIDGET comes back with the honey and fills a bowl with milk.)

BRIDGET

She is the child of gentle people; look
175At her white hands and at her pretty dress.
I've brought you some new milk, but wait a while
And I will put it to the fire to warm,
For things well fitted for poor folk like us
Would never please a high-born child like you.

She comes from kind parents; look
175At her fair hands and her lovely dress.
I've brought you some fresh milk, but hang on a bit
And I’ll warm it up by the fire,
Because what’s good enough for us poor folks
Would never satisfy a child from a wealthy family like you.

THE CHILD

THE KID

From dawn, when you must blow the fire ablaze,
You work your fingers to the bone, old mother.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you must work your fingers to the bone
Because your heart is old.

From dawn, when you have to get the fire going,
You work your fingers to the bone, old mother.
The young can stay in bed and dream and hope,
But you have to work your fingers to the bone
Because your heart is worn out.

BRIDGET

The young are idle.

The youth are lazy.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Your memories have made you wise, old father;
The young must sigh through many a dream and hope,
But you are wise because your heart is old.

Your memories have made you wise, old man;
The young have to sigh through many dreams and hopes,
But you are wise because your heart has aged.

(BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey.)

(BRIDGET hands her more bread and honey.)

MAURTEEN

O, who would think to find so young a girl
176Loving old age and wisdom?

O, who would think to find such a young girl
176loving old age and wisdom?

THE CHILD

THE KID

No more, mother.

Not anymore, mom.

MAURTEEN

What a small bite! The milk is ready now. (Hands it to her.) What a small sip!

What a tiny bite! The milk is ready now. (Hands it to her.) What a tiny sip!

THE CHILD

THE KID

Put on my shoes, old mother.
Now I would like to dance now I have eaten,
The reeds are dancing by Coolaney lake,
And I would like to dance until the reeds
And the white waves have danced themselves asleep.

Put on my shoes, Mom.
Now I want to dance since I’ve eaten,
The reeds are swaying by Coolaney lake,
And I want to dance until the reeds
And the white waves have danced themselves to sleep.

(BRIDGET puts on the shoes, and the CHILD is about to dance, but suddenly sees the crucifix and shrieks and covers her eyes.)

(BRIDGET puts on the shoes, and the KID is about to dance, but suddenly sees the crucifix and shrieks and covers her eyes.)

What is that ugly thing on the black cross?

What is that nasty thing on the black cross?

FATHER HART

DAD HART

You cannot know how naughty your words are!
That is our Blessed Lord.

You have no idea how mischievous your words are!
That is our Blessed Lord.

THE CHILD

THE KID

177Hide it away!

Hide it away!

BRIDGET

I have begun to be afraid again.

I’ve started to feel afraid again.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Hide it away!

MAURTEEN

That would be wickedness!

That would be evil!

BRIDGET

That would be sacrilege!

That's sacrilege!

THE CHILD

THE KID

The tortured thing!
Hide it away!

The tortured thing!
Keep it hidden!

MAURTEEN

Her parents are to blame.

Her parents are at fault.

FATHER HART

That is the image of the Son of God.

THE CHILD (caressing him)

THE CHILD (petting him)

178Hide it away, hide it away!

178Keep it hidden, keep it hidden!

MAURTEEN

No, no.

No way.

FATHER HART

DAD HART

Because you are so young and like a bird,
That must take fright at every stir of the leaves,
I will go take it down.

Because you're so young and like a bird,
That must get startled by every rustle of the leaves,
I will go take it down.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Hide it away!
And cover it out of sight and out of mind!

Put it away!
And hide it where you won’t see it and won’t think about it!

(FATHER HART takes crucifix from wall and carries it towards inner room.)

(FATHER HART takes the crucifix from the wall and walks it into the inner room.)

FATHER HART

Since you have come into this barony,
I will instruct you in our blessed faith;
And being so keen witted you'll soon learn.

Since you’ve arrived in this barony,
I’ll teach you our cherished faith;
And with your sharp mind, you’ll learn quickly.

(To the others.)

To the others.

We must be tender to all budding things,
Our Maker let no thought of Calvary
Trouble the morning stars in their first song.

We should be gentle with all new beginnings,
Our Creator didn't let thoughts of Calvary
Disturb the morning stars in their first song.

(Puts crucifix in inner room.)

(Puts crucifix in closet.)

179

THE CHILD

THE KID

Here is level ground for dancing; I will dance.

Here is flat ground for dancing; I will dance.

(Sings.)

"The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away."

"The wind blows out from the day's gates,
The wind sweeps over those who feel alone,
And the lonely at heart just fade away."

(She dances.)

She dances.

MARY (to SHAWN)

Just now when she came near I thought I heard
Other small steps beating upon the floor,
And a faint music blowing in the wind,
Invisible pipes giving her feet the tune.

Just now when she got close, I thought I heard
Other little footsteps tapping on the floor,
And a soft music blowing in the wind,
Invisible pipes providing the rhythm for her feet.

SHAWN

I heard no steps but hers.

I only heard her footsteps.

MARY

I hear them now,
The unholy powers are dancing in the house.

I can hear them now,
The dark forces are dancing in the house.

MAURTEEN

Come over here, and if you promise me
Not to talk wickedly of holy things
180I will give you something.

Come here, and if you promise me
Not to speak disrespectfully about sacred things
180I will give you something.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Bring it me, old father.

Bring it to me, Dad.

MAURTEEN

Here are some ribbons that I bought in the town
For my son's wife—but she will let me give them
To tie up that wild hair the winds have tumbled.

Here are some ribbons I got in town
For my son's wife—but she'll let me give them
To tie up that wild hair the wind has tossed.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Come, tell me, do you love me?

Come on, tell me, do you love me?

MAURTEEN

Yes, I love you.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Ah, but you love this fireside. Do you love me?

Ah, but you love this fire. Do you love me?

FATHER HART

When the Almighty puts so great a share
Of His own ageless youth into a creature,
To look is but to love.

When the Almighty invests so much of His timeless youth into a being, looking at them is just falling in love.

THE CHILD

THE KID

181But you love Him?

But you love him?

BRIDGET

She is blaspheming.

She's cursing.

THE CHILD

THE KID

And do you love me too?

Do you love me too?

MARY

I do not know.

IDK.

THE CHILD

THE KID

You love that young man there,
Yet I could make you ride upon the winds,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

You love that young guy over there,
Yet I could make you soar through the winds,
Run on the crest of the wild waves,
And dance on the mountains like a fire.

MARY

Queen of Angels and kind saints defend us!
Some dreadful thing will happen. A while ago
She took away the blessed quicken wood.

Queen of Angels and kind saints, protect us!
Something terrible is about to happen. Not long ago
She took away the blessed quicken wood.

FATHER HART

You fear because of her unmeasured prattle;
182She knows no better. Child, how old are you?

You’re scared by her endless chattering;
182She doesn’t know any better. Kid, how old are you?

THE CHILD

THE KID

When winter sleep is abroad my hair grows thin,
My feet unsteady. When the leaves awaken
My mother carries me in her golden arms;
I'll soon put on my womanhood and marry
The spirits of wood and water, but who can tell
When I was born for the first time? I think
I am much older than the eagle cock
That blinks and blinks on Ballygawley Hill,
And he is the oldest thing under the moon.

When winter comes, my hair gets thin,
My feet feel unsteady. When the leaves come back,
My mom carries me in her golden arms;
I’ll soon take on my womanhood and marry
The spirits of the woods and water, but who knows
When I was born the first time? I think
I’m way older than the eagle that sits
And blinks on Ballygawley Hill,
And he’s the oldest thing under the moon.

FATHER HART

O she is of the faery people.

O she is one of the fairy folks.

THE CHILD

THE KID

One called,
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,
She called again and after that I came.

Someone called,
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,
She called again, and then I came.

(All except SHAWN and MARY BRUIN gather behind the priest for protection.)

SHAWN (rising)

SHAWN (standing up)

Though you have made all these obedient,
183You have not charmed my sight and won from me
A wish or gift to make you powerful;
I'll turn you from the house.

Though you have made all these obey you,
183You haven't impressed me or earned from me
A wish or gift to make you strong;
I'll send you away from the house.

FATHER HART

No, I will face her.

No, I will confront her.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Because you took away the crucifix
I am so mighty that there's none can pass,
Unless I will it, where my feet have danced
Or where I've whirled my finger-tops.

Because you took away the crucifix
I am so powerful that no one can pass,
Unless I allow it, where my feet have danced
Or where I've twirled my finger-tops.

(SHAWN tries to approach her and cannot.)

(SHAWN tries to get closer to her but fails.)

MAURTEEN

Look, look!
There something stops him—look how he moves his hands
As though he rubbed them on a wall of glass!

Check it out!
Something makes him stop—check out how he moves his hands
As if he's trying to wipe them on a glass wall!

FATHER HART

DAD HART

I will confront this mighty spirit alone;
Be not afraid, the Father is with us,
The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents,
184The adoring Magi in their coats of mail,
And He who died and rose on the third day,
And all the nine angelic hierarchies.

I will face this powerful spirit by myself;
Don’t worry, God is with us,
The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents,
184The worshiping Magi in their armor,
And He who died and came back to life on the third day,
And all the nine orders of angels.

(The CHILD kneels upon the settle beside Mary and puts her arms about her.)

(The KID kneels on the couch next to Mary and wraps her arms around her.)

Cry, daughter, to the Angels and the Saints.

THE CHILD

THE KID

You shall go with me, newly-married bride,
And gaze upon a merrier multitude.
White-armed Nuala, Aengus of the Birds,
Feacra of the hurtling foam, and him
Who is the ruler of the Western Host,
Finvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire,
Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood,
But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.
I kiss you and the world begins to fade.

You will come with me, newly-married bride,
And look at a happier crowd.
White-armed Nuala, Aengus of the Birds,
Feacra of the crashing waves, and him
Who rules the Western Host,
Finvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire,
Where beauty never fades, decay never floods,
But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.
I kiss you and the world starts to disappear.

SHAWN

Awake out of that trance—and cover up
Your eyes and ears.

Awake from that trance—and cover
Your eyes and ears.

FATHER HART

She must both look and listen,
185For only the soul's choice can save her now.
Come over to me, daughter; stand beside me;
Think of this house and of your duties in it.

She needs to both see and hear,
185Because only the soul's choice can save her now.
Come here to me, daughter; stand next to me;
Consider this home and your responsibilities in it.

THE CHILD

THE KID

Stay and come with me, newly-married bride,
For if you hear him you grow like the rest;
Bear children, cook, and bend above the churn,
And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs,
Until at last, grown old and bitter of tongue,
You're crouching there and shivering at the grave.

Stay and come with me, newlywed bride,
For if you listen to him, you'll become like the others;
Have kids, cook, and hover over the churn,
And argue about butter, chickens, and eggs,
Until finally, old and bitter,
You find yourself crouching there, shivering by the grave.

FATHER HART

Daughter, I point you out the way to Heaven.

Daughter, I'm showing you the path to Heaven.

THE CHILD

THE KID

But I can lead you, newly-married bride,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue,
And where kind tongues bring no captivity;
For we are but obedient to the thoughts
186That drift into the mind at a wink of the eye.

But I can guide you, new bride,
Where no one grows old and cunning and wise,
Where no one becomes old and pious and serious,
Where no one gets old and harsh in speech,
And where gentle words bring no chains;
For we simply follow the thoughts
186That float into our minds in the blink of an eye.

FATHER HART

DAD HART

By the dear Name of the One crucified,
I bid you, Mary Bruin, come to me.

By the dear name of the One who was crucified,
I ask you, Mary Bruin, to come to me.

THE CHILD

THE KID

I keep you in the name of your own heart.

I hold you in the name of your own heart.

FATHER HART

It is because I put away the crucifix
That I am nothing, and my power is nothing.
I'll bring it here again.

It’s because I put away the crucifix
That I am nothing, and my power is nothing.
I’ll bring it back here.

MAURTEEN (clinging to him)

MAURTEEN (holding onto him)

No.

BRIDGET

BRIDGE

Do not leave us.

Don't leave us.

FATHER HART

O, let me go before it is too late;
It is my sin alone that brought it all.

O, let me leave before it’s too late;
It’s my fault that it all happened.

(Singing outside.)

Singing outdoors.

187

THE CHILD

THE KID

I hear them sing, "Come, newly-married bride,
Come, to the woods and waters and pale lights."

I hear them sing, "Come, newlywed bride,
Come, to the woods and waters and soft lights."

MARY

I will go with you.

I’ll go with you.

FATHER HART

She is lost, alas!

She is lost, unfortunately!

THE CHILD (standing by the door)

But clinging mortal hope must fall from you,
For we who ride the winds, run on the waves,
And dance upon the mountains are more light
Than dewdrops on the banner of the dawn.

But holding on to hope must slip away from you,
Because we who soar through the skies, sprint on the waves,
And dance atop the mountains are lighter
Than dewdrops on the banner of the dawn.

MARY

O, take me with you.

Oh, take me with you.

SHAWN

Beloved, I will keep you.
188I've more than words, I have these arms to hold you,
Nor all the faery host, do what they please,
Shall ever make me loosen you from these arms.

My dear, I will keep you near.
188I have more than just words; I have these arms to embrace you,
And no magical beings, no matter what they do,
Will ever make me let go of you from this embrace.

MARY

Dear face! Dear voice!

THE CHILD

THE KID

Come, newly-married bride.

Come, newlywed bride.

MARY

I always loved her world—and yet—and yet——

THE CHILD

THE KID

White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird.

MARY

She calls me!

She’s calling me!

THE CHILD

THE KID

Come with me, little bird.

Come along, little bird.

(Distant dancing figures appear in the wood.)

(Distant dancing figures can be seen in the woods.)

189

MARY

I can hear songs and dancing.

I can hear music and dancing.

SHAWN

Stay with me.

MARY

I think that I would stay—and yet—and yet——

I think I would stay—but then again—but then again—

THE CHILD

THE KID

Come, little bird, with crest of gold.

Come, little bird, with a golden crest.

MARY (very softly)

MARY (whispers)

And yet——

And yet—

THE CHILD

THE KID

Come, little bird with silver feet!

(MARY BRUIN dies, and the CHILD goes.)

(MARY BRUIN dies, and the CHILD leaves.)

SHAWN

190She is dead!

She’s dead!

BRIDGET

Come from that image; body and soul are gone.
You have thrown your arms about a drift of leaves,
Or bole of an ash-tree changed into her image.

Come from that image; your body and soul are gone.
You have wrapped your arms around a pile of leaves,
Or the trunk of an ash tree transformed into her figure.

FATHER HART

Thus do the spirits of evil snatch their prey,
Almost out of the very hand of God;
And day by day their power is more and more,
And men and women leave old paths, for pride
Comes knocking with thin knuckles on the heart.

Thus the evil spirits grab their victims,
Almost right out of God's grasp;
And day by day, their power grows stronger,
As people abandon their old ways, because pride
Starts tapping lightly on their hearts.

(Outside there are dancing figures, and it may be a white bird, and many voices singing:)

(Outside, there are dancing figures, possibly a white bird, and many voices singing:)

"The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away;
While the faeries dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair,
191And even the wise are merry of tongue;
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say—
'When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lonely of heart is withered away.'"

"The wind blows out from the gates of the day,
The wind blows over those who feel lonely,
And the lonely hearts are fading away;
While the fairies dance in a place apart,
Shaking their pale feet in a circle,
Waving their pale arms in the air;
Because they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
About a land where even the old are beautiful,
191And even the wise have a cheerful tongue;
But I heard a reed from Coolaney say—
'When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lonely of heart is fading away.'"

193

CROSSWAYS

194

"The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks."

"The stars are separated, and the souls are taken out of their shells."

William Blake.

195

To A.E.

197

THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD

The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Gray Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers?—By the Rood
Where are now the warring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
198The kings of the old time are fled
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.

Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek; for this is also sooth;
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass—
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs—the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming-sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell,
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be,
Rewarding in melodious guile,
Thy fretful words a little while,
199Till they shall singing fade in ruth,
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.

I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.

The woods of Arcady are gone,
And their ancient joy is over;
Once, the world thrived on dreams;
Gray Truth is now just a painted toy;
Yet she still turns her restless head:
But oh, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In bleak dancing that swirl around us,
To the cracked tune that Time plays,
Words alone hold true worth.
Where are the warring kings,
Mockers of words?—By the Cross
Where have the warring kings gone?
An idle word is now their glory,
Spoken by a stuttering schoolboy,
Reading some tangled story:
198The kings of old have disappeared
The wandering earth itself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
Heard for a moment in clattering space,
Disturbing the endless daydream.

So don’t worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek; for this is also true;
To fiercely hunger for truth,
Lest all your toil only creates
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Except in your own heart. Seek, then,
No wisdom from the starry men,
Who follow with telescopes
The swirling paths of passing stars—
Seek, then, for this is also true,
No word of theirs—the cold star's curse
Has cleaved and torn their hearts apart,
And all their human truth is dead.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted shell that echoes,
And tell your story to its lips,
And they will offer you comfort,
Rewarding your restless words for a while,
199Till they fade away in sorrow,
And die in a pearly unity;
For words alone hold true worth:
Sing, then, for this is also true.

I must be off: there is a grave
Where daffodils and lilies wave,
And I want to please the hapless faun,
Buried beneath the sleepy ground,
With joyful songs before dawn breaks.
His shouting days were filled with joy;
And still I dream he walks the lawn,
Walking ghostlike in the dew,
Touched by my happy singing,
My songs of the earth's dreamy youth:
But alas! she doesn't dream now; you dream!
For beautiful are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also true.

200

THE SAD SHEPHERD

There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story!
The sea swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill;
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening,
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
201The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend,
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own tale again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.

There was a man whom Sorrow called his friend,
And he, dreaming of his close companion Sorrow,
Walked slowly along the shining
And humming sands, where the wind-tossed waves flowed:
He called out loudly to the stars to come down
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Just laughed and sang among themselves all the time:
Then the man whom Sorrow called his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most pitiful story!
The sea kept moving and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill;
He ran from the weight of her glory
And, in a distant, gentle valley stopping,
Told all his story to the glistening dewdrops,
But they heard nothing, for they are always listening,
201The dewdrops, for the sound of their own falling.
Then the man whom Sorrow called his friend,
Sought the shore again and found a shell,
And thought, I will tell my heavy story
Until my own words, echoing, send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own tale will sing for me again,
And my own whispering words will comfort me,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly near the pearly edge;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways alone
Changed everything he sang into an inarticulate moan
Among her bewildering whirls, forgetting him.

202

THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES

"What do you make so fair and bright?"

"I make the cloak of Sorrow:
"O, lovely to see in all men's sight
"Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
"In all men's sight."

"What do you build with sails for flight?"

"I build a boat for Sorrow,
"O, swift on the seas all day and night
"Saileth the rover Sorrow,
"All day and night."

"What do you weave with wool so white?

"I weave the shoes of Sorrow,
"Soundless shall be the footfall light
"In all men's ears of Sorrow,
"Sudden and light."

"What are you making that looks so bright?"

"I'm making the cloak of Sorrow:
"Oh, it's beautiful for everyone to see
"It will be the cloak of Sorrow,
"For everyone to see."

"What are you building with sails for flying?"

"I'm building a boat for Sorrow,
"Oh, it sails swiftly on the seas, day and night
"The rover Sorrow sails,
"All day and night."

"What are you weaving with wool that’s so white?"

"I'm weaving the shoes of Sorrow,
"Silent will be the light footsteps
"In everyone's ears of Sorrow,
"Sudden and light."

203

ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA

A little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Around it a garden; around that the forest. ANASHUYA, the young priestess, kneeling within the temple.

A small Indian temple during the Golden Age. Surrounding it is a garden; beyond that lies the forest. ANASHUYA, the young priestess, kneeling inside the temple.

ANASHUYA

Send peace on all the lands and flickering corn.—
O, may tranquillity walk by his elbow
When wandering in the forest, if he love
No other.—Hear, and may the indolent flocks
Be plentiful.—And if he love another,
May panthers end him.—Hear, and load our king
With wisdom hour by hour.—May we two stand,
When we are dead, beyond the setting suns,
A little from the other shades apart,
With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.

Send peace to all the lands and waving fields of corn.—
O, may calm be by his side
When wandering in the forest, if he loves
No one else.—Listen, and may the lazy flocks
Be abundant.—And if he loves another,
May panthers take him out.—Listen, and fill our king
With wisdom constantly.—May we two stand,
When we are gone, beyond the setting suns,
A little apart from the other shadows,
With intertwined hair, and play on one lute.

VIJAYA [entering and throwing a lily at her]

204Hail! hail, my Anashuya.

Hey! Hey, my Anashuya.

ANASHUYA

No: be still.
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.

No: be quiet.
I, the priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.

VIJAYA

I will wait here, Amrita.

I'll wait here, Amrita.

ANASHUYA

By mighty Brahma's ever rustling robe,
Who is Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows!
Another fills your mind.

By the powerful Brahma's constantly moving robe,
Who is Amrita? The grief of all griefs!
Someone else occupies your thoughts.

VIJAYA

My mother's name.

My mom's name.

ANASHUYA [sings, coming out of the temple]

ANASHUYA [sings, walking out of the temple]

A sad, sad thought went by me slowly:
Sigh, O you little stars! O, sigh and shake your blue apparel!
The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly:
Sing, O you little stars! O, sing and raise your rapturous carol
To mighty Brahma, he who made you many as the sands,
And laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands.

A sad thought passed by me slowly:
Sigh, O you little stars! O, sigh and shake your blue outfits!
The sad thought has now completely left me:
Sing, O you little stars! O, sing and raise your joyful song
To mighty Brahma, the one who created you as numerous as the sands,
And placed you at the gates of evening with his gentle hands.

[Sits down on the steps of the temple.]

205

Vijaya, I have brought my evening rice;
The sun has laid his chin on the gray wood,
Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him.

Vijaya, I’ve brought my dinner rice;
The sun has rested his chin on the gray wood,
Tired, with all his poppies gathered around him.

VIJAYA

The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter,
Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows,
Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.

The time when Kama, filled with drowsy laughter,
Rises, scattering his sweet-smelling arrows,
Piercing the twilight with their soft whispers.

ANASHUYA

See how the sacred old flamingoes come,
Painting with shadow all the marble steps:
Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches
Within the temple, devious walking, made
To wander by their melancholy minds.
Yon tall one eyes my supper; swiftly chase him
Far, far away. I named him after you.
He is a famous fisher; hour by hour
He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams.
Ah! there he snaps my rice. I told you so.
Now cuff him off. He's off! A kiss for you,
Because you saved my rice. Have you no thanks?

See how the sacred old flamingos come,
Painting shadows on all the marble steps:
Old and wise, they look for their usual spots
Inside the temple, wandering around,
Driven by their sad thoughts.
That tall one is eyeing my dinner; quickly chase him
Far, far away. I named him after you.
He’s a great fisherman; hour by hour
He stirs up the minnows in the streams.
Ah! there he grabs my rice. I told you so.
Now push him away. He's gone! A kiss for you,
Because you saved my rice. Don't you want to thank me?

VIJAYA [sings]

VIJAYA [performs]

Sing you of her, O first few stars,
206Whom Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you hold
The van of wandering quiet; ere you be too calm and old,
Sing, turning in your cars,
Sing, till you raise your hands and sigh, and from your car heads peer,
With all your whirling hair, and drop many an azure tear.

Sing of her, O first few stars,
206Whom Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you hold
The leading edge of wandering stillness; before you become too calm and old,
Sing, as you move in your chariots,
Sing, until you raise your hands and sigh, and from your chariot heads peek,
With all your swirling hair, and drop many blue tears.

ANASHUYA

What know the pilots of the stars of tears?

What do the pilots of the stars of tears know?

VIJAYA

Their faces are all worn, and in their eyes
Flashes the fire of sadness, for they see
The icicles that famish all the north,
Where men lie frozen in the glimmering snow;
And in the flaming forests cower the lion
And lioness, with all their whimpering cubs;
And, ever pacing on the verge of things,
The phantom, Beauty, in a mist of tears;
While we alone have round us woven woods,
And feel the softness of each other's hand,
Amrita, while——

Their faces all look worn, and in their eyes
Flashes the fire of sadness, because they see
The icicles that starve all the north,
Where men lie frozen in the glimmering snow;
And in the burning forests cower the lion
And lioness, with all their whimpering cubs;
And, always pacing on the edge of things,
The phantom, Beauty, in a mist of tears;
While we alone have woven woods around us,
And feel the softness of each other's hand,
Amrita, while——

ANASHUYA [going away from him]

ANASHUYA [walking away from him]

Ah me, you love another,

Oh, you love someone else,

[Bursting into tears.]

Crying uncontrollably.

207And may some dreadful ill befall her quick!

207And may some terrible misfortune happen to her soon!

VIJAYA

I loved another; now I love no other.
Among the mouldering of ancient woods
You live, and on the village border she,
With her old father the blind wood-cutter;
I saw her standing in her door but now.

I loved someone else; now I love no one.
In the decaying ancient woods
You live, and on the edge of the village she,
With her elderly father, the blind woodcutter;
I just saw her standing in her doorway.

ANASHUYA

Vijaya, swear to love her never more,

Vijaya, promise to never love her again,

VIJAYA

Ay, ay.

Aye, aye.

ANASHUYA

Swear by the parents of the gods,
Dread oath, who dwell on sacred Himalay,
On the far Golden Peak; enormous shapes,
Who still were old when the great sea was young
On their vast faces mystery and dreams;
Their hair along the mountains rolled and filled
From year to year by the unnumbered nests
Of aweless birds, and round their stirless feet
The joyous flocks of deer and antelope,
Who never hear the unforgiving hound.
Swear!

I swear by the parents of the gods,
Dread oath, who live on the sacred Himalayas,
On the distant Golden Peak; massive figures,
Who were ancient even when the great sea was young
With mystery and dreams etched on their vast faces;
Their hair cascades down the mountains, filled
From year to year by countless nests
Of fearless birds, and around their motionless feet
The happy herds of deer and antelope,
Who never hear the relentless hound.
Swear!

VIJAYA

208 By the parents of the gods, I swear.

208 I swear by the parents of the gods.

ANASHUYA [sings]

ANASHUYA [performs]

I have forgiven, O new star!
Maybe you have not heard of us, you have come forth so newly,
You hunter of the fields afar!
Ah, you will know my loved one by his hunter's arrows truly,
Shoot on him shafts of quietness, that he may ever keep
An inner laughter, and may kiss his hands to me in sleep.

Farewell, Vijaya. Nay, no word, no word;
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.

I have forgiven you, O new star!
Maybe you haven't heard of us since you've just appeared,
You hunter of the distant fields!
Ah, you will recognize my loved one by his hunter’s arrows for sure,
Shoot him arrows of calm, so he can always hold on to
An inner laughter and can kiss his hands to me in sleep.

Goodbye, Vijaya. No, no words, no words;
I, the priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.

[VIJAYA goes.]

[VIJAYA is leaving.]

O Brahma, guard in sleep
The merry lambs and the complacent kine,
The flies below the leaves, and the young mice
In the tree roots, and all the sacred flocks
Of red flamingo; and my love, Vijaya;
And may no restless fay with fidget finger
Trouble his sleeping: give him dreams of me.

O Brahma, watch over us while we sleep.
The playful lambs and the relaxed cows,
The flies under the leaves, and the baby mice
In the tree roots, and all the holy flocks
Of red flamingo; and my love, Vijaya;
And may no restless spirit with fidgety hands
Disturb his slumber: grant him dreams of me.

209

THE INDIAN UPON GOD

I passed along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace
All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak
Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
210Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk,
For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.

I walked along the edge of the water under the humid trees,
My spirit swayed in the evening light, the rushes brushing my knees,
My spirit swayed in sleep and sighs; I saw the moorfowl move
All wet on a grassy slope, and watched them stop their groove
Chasing each other in circles, and I heard the eldest say:
Who holds the world in His beak and made us strong or weak
Is an eternal moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains come from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye.
I walked a little further and heard a lotus speak:
210Who made the world and rules it, He hangs on a stalk,
For I am made in His image, and all this tinkling tide
Is just a sliding drop of rain between His wide petals.
A bit deeper in the gloom, a roebuck lifted his gaze
Full of starlight, and he said: The Creator of the Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else could He,
Imagine something so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I walked a bit further and heard a peacock say:
Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers bright,
He is a monstrous peacock, and He waves all night
His languid tail above us, lit with countless spots of light.

211

THE INDIAN TO HIS LOVE

The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet bows apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
212One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole among the water's drowsy blaze.

The island dreams in the morning light
And big branches bring calmness;
The peahens dance on the smooth grass,
A parrot sways on a tree,
Fuming at his own reflection in the glossy sea.

Here we'll anchor our lonely ship
And stroll hand in hand,
Whispering softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sand,
Murmuring about how far away the restless lands are:

How we alone among mortals are
Hidden under quiet branches, apart,
While our love shines like an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
212One with the tide that sparkles, the wings that shine and dart,

The heavy branches, the golden dove
That moans and sighs for a hundred days:
How when we die our spirits will roam,
When the evening has silenced the feathered paths,
With misty footsteps among the water's drowsy glow.

213

THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

Autumn covers the long leaves that care for us,
And over the mice in the barley stacks;
Yellow are the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow are the wet wild strawberry leaves.

The time of fading love has arrived,
And tired and worn are our sad souls now;
Let’s part, before the season of passion forgets us,
With a kiss and a tear on your drooping brow.

214

EPHEMERA

"Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
"Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
"Because our love is waning."

And then she:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
"By the lone border of the lake once more,
"Together in that hour of gentleness
"When the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep:
"How far away the stars seem, and how far
"Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"

Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."

The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
215Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.

"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
"Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
"Before us lies eternity; our souls
"Are love, and a continual farewell."

"Your eyes that once were always bright with mine
"Are heavy with sorrow under drooping lids,
"Because our love is fading."

And then she:
"Even though our love is fading, let’s stand
"By the lonely edge of the lake one more time,
"Together in that moment of tenderness
"When the weary child, Passion, falls asleep:
"How distant the stars seem, and how far
"Is our first kiss, and oh, how aged my heart!"

Thoughtfully they walked over the fallen leaves,
While slowly he, holding her hand, responded:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."

The woods surrounded them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the dim light, and once
An old, lame rabbit limped down the path;
215Autumn enveloped him: and now they stood
On the lonely edge of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had tucked dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
Into her bosom and hair.

"Hey, don't be sad," he said,
"That we are weary, for other loves await us;
"Fight on and love through these untroubled hours.
"Before us lies eternity; our souls
"Are love, and a constant goodbye."

216

THE MADNESS OF KING GOLL

I sat on cushioned otter skin:
My word was law from Ith to Emen,
And shook at Invar Amargin
The hearts of the world-troubling seamen.
And drove tumult and war away
From girl and boy and man and beast;
The fields grew fatter day by day,
The wild fowl of the air increased;
And every ancient Ollave said,
While he bent down his fading head,
"He drives away the Northern cold."
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

I sat and mused and drank sweet wine;
A herdsman came from inland valleys,
Crying, the pirates drove his swine
217To fill their dark-beaked hollow galleys.
I called my battle-breaking men,
And my loud brazen battle-cars
From rolling vale and rivery glen,
And under the blinking of the stars
Fell on the pirates by the deep,
And hurled them in the gulph of sleep:
These hands won many a torque of gold.
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

But slowly, as I shouting slew
And trampled in the bubbling mire,
In my most secret spirit grew
A whirling and a wandering fire:
I stood: keen stars above me shone,
Around me shone keen eyes of men:
I laughed aloud and hurried on
By rocky shore and rushy fen;
I laughed because birds fluttered by,
And starlight gleamed, and clouds flew high,
And rushes waved and waters rolled.
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

And now I wander in the woods
218When summer gluts the golden bees,
Or in autumnal solitudes
Arise the leopard-coloured trees;
Or when along the wintry strands
The cormorants shiver on their rocks;
I wander on, and wave my hands,
And sing, and shake my heavy locks.
The gray wolf knows me; by one ear
I lead along the woodland deer;
The hares run by me growing bold.
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

I came upon a little town,
That slumbered in the harvest moon,
And passed a-tiptoe up and down,
Murmuring, to a fitful tune,
How I have followed, night and day,
A tramping of tremendous feet,
And saw where this old tympan lay,
Deserted on a doorway seat,
And bore it to the woods with me;
Of some unhuman misery
Our married voiced wildly trolled.
219They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

I sang how, when day's toil is done,
Orchil shakes out her long dark hair
That hides away the dying sun
And sheds faint odours through the air:
When my hand passed from wire to wire
It quenched, with sound like falling dew,
The whirling and the wandering fire;
But lift a mournful ulalu,
For the kind wires are torn and still,
And I must wander wood and hill
Through summer's heat and winter's cold.
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.

I sat on a cushioned otter skin:
My word was law from Ith to Emen,
And shook at Invar Amargin
The hearts of the world-troubling sailors.
And drove chaos and war away
From girl and boy and man and beast;
The fields grew richer day by day,
The wild birds in the air increased;
And every ancient Ollave said,
While he bent down his fading head,
"He drives away the Northern cold."
They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

I sat and pondered while drinking sweet wine;
A herdsman came from the inland valleys,
Crying that the pirates drove his pigs
217To fill their dark-beaked hollow galleys.
I called my battle-ready men,
And my loud, shiny battle chariots
From rolling valley and river glen,
And under the blinking stars
Fell on the pirates by the deep,
And hurled them into the gulf of sleep:
These hands won many a torque of gold.
They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

But slowly, as I shouted and killed
And trampled in the bubbling mud,
In my innermost spirit grew
A whirling and wandering fire:
I stood: sharp stars shone above me,
Around me shone the sharp eyes of men:
I laughed aloud and hurried on
By rocky shore and marshy fen;
I laughed because birds fluttered by,
And starlight gleamed, and clouds flew high,
And rushes swayed and waters rolled.
They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

And now I wander in the woods
218When summer fills the golden bees,
Or in autumnal solitude
Where the leopard-colored trees arise;
Or when along the wintry shores
The cormorants shiver on their rocks;
I wander on, and wave my hands,
And sing, and shake my heavy hair.
The gray wolf knows me; by one ear
I lead along the woodland deer;
The hares run past me, growing bold.
They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

I came upon a little town,
That slumbered in the harvest moon,
And passed quietly up and down,
Murmuring, to a fitful tune,
How I have followed, night and day,
A sound of tremendous feet,
And saw where this old tympan lay,
Deserted on a doorway seat,
And carried it to the woods with me;
Of some unhuman misery
Our married voices wildly trolled.
219They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

I sang how, when day's work is done,
Orchil shakes out her long dark hair
That hides away the dying sun
And sheds faint scents through the air:
When my hand moved from string to string
It quenched, with sound like falling dew,
The whirling and wandering fire;
But raise a mournful ulalu,
For the kind wires are torn and still,
And I must wander through wood and hill
Through summer's heat and winter's cold.
They will not hush, the leaves fluttering around me, the old beech leaves.

220

THE STOLEN CHILD

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
221Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams,
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
222For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.

Where the rocky highland dips
Into the lake of Sleuth Wood,
There’s a leafy island
Where herons flap their wings and wake
The sleepy water rats;
That’s where we’ve hidden our fairy vats,
Full of berries,
And the ripest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the moonlight waves
Glisten on the dim gray sands,
Far off by the furthest Rosses
We dance all night,
Weaving ancient dances,
Joining hands and sharing glances
221Till the moon has flown away;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And restless in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That can barely bathe a star,
We search for dozing trout
And whisper in their ears
To give them restless dreams;
Leaning gently out
From ferns that shed their tears
Over the young streams,
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
222For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

He’s going away with us,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll no longer hear the lowing
Of calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the stove
Singing peace into his heart,
Or see the brown mice dart
Around the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.

223

TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER

Shy one, shy one,
Shy one of my heart,
She moves in the firelight
Pensively apart.

She carries in the dishes,
And lays them in a row.
To an isle in the water
With her would I go.

She carries in the candles,
And lights the curtained room,
Shy in the doorway
And shy in the gloom;

And shy as a rabbit,
Helpful and shy.
To an isle in the water
With her would I fly.

Shy one, shy one,
Shy one of my heart,
She moves in the firelight
Thoughtfully apart.

She brings in the dishes,
And sets them in a row.
To an island in the water
With her I would go.

She brings in the candles,
And lights up the curtain room,
Shy in the doorway
And shy in the gloom;

And shy like a rabbit,
Helpful and shy.
To an island in the water
With her I would fly.

224

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

Down by the willow gardens, my love and I met;
She walked through the willow gardens with tiny snow-white feet.
She told me to take love easy, like the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, wouldn’t agree with her.

In a field by the river, my love and I stood,
And on my leaning shoulder, she rested her snow-white hand.
She told me to take life easy, like the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now I’m full of tears.

225

THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN

You waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play,
Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart;
In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

The herring are not in the tides as they were of old;
My sorrow! for many a creak gave the creel in the cart
That carried the take to Sligo town to be sold,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

And ah, you proud maiden, you are not so fair when his oar
Is heard on the water, as they were, the proud and apart,
Who paced in the eve by the nets on the pebbly shore,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

You waves, dancing at my feet like children at play,
You shine and you flicker, you purr and you dart;
In the Junes that were warmer than these, the waves were happier,
When I was a boy with a heart that was whole.

The herring aren’t in the tides like they used to be;
My sorrow! for many a creak came from the creel in the cart
That carried the catch to Sligo town to be sold,
When I was a boy with a heart that was whole.

And oh, you proud maiden, you’re not as beautiful now when I hear his oar
On the water, as they were, proud and distant,
Who walked at dusk by the nets on the pebbly shore,
When I was a boy with a heart that was whole.

226

THE BALLAD OF FATHER O'HART

Good Father John O'Hart
In penal days rode out
To a shoneen who had free lands
And his own snipe and trout.

In trust took he John's lands;
Sleiveens were all his race;
And he gave them as dowers to his daughters,
And they married beyond their place.

But Father John went up,
And Father John went down;
And he wore small holes in his shoes,
And he wore large holes in his gown.

All loved him, only the shoneen,
Whom the devils have by the hair,
From the wives, and the cats, and the children,
227To the birds in the white of the air.

The birds, for he opened their cages
As he went up and down;
And he said with a smile, "Have peace now";
And he went his way with a frown.

But if when any one died
Came keeners hoarser than rooks,
He bade them give over their keening;
For he was a man of books.

And these were the works of John,
When weeping score by score,
People came into Coloony;
For he'd died at ninety-four.

There was no human keening;
The birds from Knocknarea
And the world round Knocknashee
Came keening in that day.

The young birds and old birds
Came flying, heavy and sad;
Keening in from Tiraragh,
228Keening from Ballinafad;

Keening from Inishmurray,
Nor stayed for bite or sup;
This way were all reproved
Who dig old customs up.

Good Father John O'Hart
In the days of oppression rode out
To a landowner who had free land
And his own snipe and trout.

He took care of John's lands;
His family were all tricksters;
And he gave them as dowries to his daughters,
And they married outside their area.

But Father John went up,
And Father John went down;
And he wore small holes in his shoes,
And he wore large holes in his gown.

Everyone loved him, except the landowner,
Whom the devils have by the hair,
From the wives, and the cats, and the children,
227To the birds in the white of the air.

The birds, because he opened their cages
As he went up and down;
And he said with a smile, "Have peace now";
And he went his way with a frown.

But if when someone died
Came mourners louder than rooks,
He told them to stop their mourning;
For he was a man of books.

And these were the deeds of John,
When weeping came in waves,
People gathered in Coloony;
For he'd died at ninety-four.

There was no human mourning;
The birds from Knocknarea
And the world around Knocknashee
Came mourning on that day.

The young birds and old birds
Came flying, heavy and sad;
Mourning from Tiraragh,
228Mourning from Ballinafad;

Mourning from Inishmurray,
Nor stayed for bite or sup;
This way were all rebuked
Who dig up old customs.

229

THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE

Come round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee.

My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.

And sometimes from the saltin' shed,
I scarce could drag my feet
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along the pebbly street.

I'd always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbour minded her by day
230I minded her till morn.

I lay upon my baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear.

A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale.

He drove me out and shut the door,
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbour could I see.

The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green
The little straws were turnin' round
Across the bare boreen.

I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
231Blowin' her mornin' fire.

She drew from me my story—
My money's all used up,
And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,
She gives me bite and sup.

She says my man will surely come,
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I'm movin' round,
Without doors or within,

Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,
Or goin' to the well,
I'm thinkin' of my baby
And keenin' to mysel'.

And sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin' wide His door,
God lights the stars, His candles,
And looks upon the poor.

So now, ye little childer,
Ye won't fling stones at me;
But gather with your shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.

Gather around me, little kids;
There, don’t throw stones at me
Because I mumble as I walk;
But feel sorry for Moll Magee.

My husband was a struggling fisherman
With shorelines in the sea;
My job was salting herring
All day long.

And sometimes from the salting shed,
I could barely drag my feet
Under the blessed moonlight,
Down the pebbly street.

I’ve always been frail,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbor watched her during the day
230I watched her until morning.

I lay beside my baby;
You little kids dear,
I looked at my cold baby
When the morning grew frosty and clear.

A weary woman sleeps so deeply!
My husband turned red and pale,
And gave me money, telling me to go
Back to my place, Kinsale.

He pushed me out and shut the door,
And cursed me;
I left in silence,
Not a neighbor in sight.

The windows and doors were closed,
One star shone faint and green.
The little straws were turning
Across the bare pathway.

I left in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kind neighbor
231Starting her morning fire.

She drew my story from me—
My money’s all gone,
And still, with her pitying, scornful gaze,
She offers me food and drink.

She says my husband will surely come,
And bring me back home;
But always, as I’m moving around,
Inside or out,

Stacking the wood or piling the turf,
Or going to the well,
I’m thinking of my baby
And grieving to myself.

And sometimes I’m sure she knows
When God opens His door wide,
Lights the stars, His candles,
And watches over the poor.

So now, you little kids,
You won’t throw stones at me;
But gather with your shining faces
And feel sorry for Moll Magee.

232

THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER

"Now lay me in a cushioned chair
"And carry me, you four,
"With cushions here and cushions there,
"To see the world once more.

"And some one from the stables bring
"My Dermot dear and brown,
"And lead him gently in a ring,
"And gently up and down.

"Now leave the chair upon the grass:
"Bring hound and huntsman here,
"And I on this strange road will pass,
"Filled full of ancient cheer."

His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun upon all things that grow
233Pours round in sleepy streams.

Brown Dermot treads upon the lawn,
And to the armchair goes,
And now the old man's dreams are gone,
He smooths the long brown nose.

And now moves many a pleasant tongue
Upon his wasted hands,
For leading aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands.

"My huntsman, Rody, blow the horn,
"And make the hills reply."
The huntsman loosens on the morn
A gay and wandering cry.

A fire is in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
And when the wandering music dies
They hear him feebly say,

"My huntsman, Rody, blow the horn,
"And make the hills reply."
"I cannot blow upon my horn,
234"I can but weep and sigh."

The servants round his cushioned place
Are with new sorrow wrung;
And hounds are gazing on his face,
Both aged hounds and young.

One blind hound only lies apart
On the sun-smitten grass;
He holds deep commune with his heart:
The moments pass and pass;

The blind hound with a mournful din
Lifts slow his wintry head;
The servants bear the body in;
The hounds wail for the dead.

"Now place me in a comfy chair
"And carry me, you four,
"With cushions here and cushions there,
"To see the world once more.

"And someone from the stables bring
"My dear, brown Dermot,
"And lead him gently in a circle,
"And gently up and down.

"Now leave the chair upon the grass:
"Bring the hound and huntsman here,
"And I will pass along this strange road,
"Filled with ancient cheer."

His eyelids droop, his head hangs low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun shines on all things that grow
233Washing everything in sleepy streams.

Brown Dermot walks upon the lawn,
And moves towards the armchair,
And now the old man's dreams are gone,
He smooths the long brown nose.

And now many pleasant tongues
Scratch against his worn hands,
For leading aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands.

"My huntsman, Rody, blow the horn,
"And make the hills reply."
The huntsman calls out in the morn
A lively and wandering cry.

A fire is in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
And when the wandering music dies
They hear him weakly say,

"My huntsman, Rody, blow the horn,
"And make the hills reply."
"I cannot blow upon my horn,
234"I can only weep and sigh."

The servants around his cushioned space
Are filled with new sorrow;
And the hounds gaze on his face,
Both aged hounds and young.

One blind hound lies apart
On the sun-drenched grass;
He holds deep counsel with his heart:
The moments pass and pass;

The blind hound with a mournful sound
Slowly lifts his wintery head;
The servants carry the body in;
The hounds wail for the dead.

235

THE WANDERINGS OF USHEEN

236

"Give me the world if Thou wilt, but grant me an asylum for my affections."

"Give me the world if you want, but give me a safe place for my feelings."

Tulka.

237

To
EDWIN J. ELLIS

To EDWIN J. ELLIS

239

BOOK I

241

S. PATRIC

S. Patrick

You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

You who are hunched, bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a restless mind,
Have experienced three centuries, poets say,
Of flirtation with a wicked thing.

USHEEN

Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
And feet of maidens dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air,
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caolte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds,
242With Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial mounds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maive is stony still;
And found on the dove-gray edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,
But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

Sad to remember, feeling the weight of years,
The countless sharp spears,
The horsemen with their flowing hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
And the feet of young women dancing in time,
And the pale body that lay beside mine;
But the story, even if words are lighter than air,
Must live to grow old like the wandering moon.

Caolte, Conan, and Finn were there,
When we chased a deer with our barking hounds,
242With Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,
And passing the burial mounds of the Firbolgs,
Came to the grassy hill piled with cairns
Where passionate Maive lies stone-cold;
And found on the dove-gray edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, noble lady, who rode
On a horse with a findrinny bridle;
And her lips were like a sunset,
A stormy sunset over doomed ships;
A citron color glimmered in her hair,
But down to her feet flowed white garments,
And with glimmering crimson glowed
Of many intricate embroideries;
And it was fastened with a pearl-pale shell
That swayed like summer streams,
As her soft chest rose and fell.

S. PATRIC

S. PATRICK

You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

You are still lost in wild dreams.

USHEEN

"Why do you wind no horn?" she said.
"And every hero droop his head?
"The hornless deer is not more sad
243"That many a peaceful moment had,
"More sleek than any granary mouse,
"In his own leafy forest house
"Among the waving fields of fern:
"The hunting of heroes should be glad."

"O pleasant woman," answered Finn,
"We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
"And on the heroes lying slain,
On Gavra's raven-covered plain;
"But where are your noble kith and kin,
"And from what country do you ride?"

"My father and my mother are
"Aengus and Adene, my own name
"Niam, and my country far
"Beyond the tumbling of this tide."

"What dream came with you that you came
"Through bitter tide on foam wet feet?
"Did your companion wander away
"From where the birds of Aengus wing?"

She said, with laughter tender and sweet:
244"I have not yet, war-weary king,
"Been spoken of with any one;
"Yet now I choose, for these four feet
"Ran through the foam and ran to this
"That I might have your son to kiss."

"Were there no better than my son
"That you through all that foam should run?"

"I loved no man, though kings besought
"Love, till the Danaan poets brought
"Rhyme, that rhymed to Usheen's name,
"And now I am dizzy with the thought
"Of all that wisdom and the fame
"Of battles broken by his hands,
"Of stories builded by his words
"That are like coloured Asian birds
"At evening in their rainless lands."

O Patric, by your brazen bell,
There was no limb of mine but fell
Into a desperate gulph of love!
"You only will I wed," I cried,
"And I will make a thousand songs,
245"And set your name all names above.
"And captives bound with leathern thongs
"Shall kneel and praise you, one by one,
"At evening in my western dun."

"O Usheen, mount by me and ride
"To shores by the wash of the tremulous tide,
"Where men have heaped no burial mounds,
"And the days pass by like a wayward tune,
"Where broken faith has never been known,
"And the blushes of first love never have flown;
"And there I will give you a hundred hounds;
"No mightier creatures bay at the moon;
"And a hundred robes of murmuring silk,
"And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep
"Whose long wool whiter than sea froth flows,
"And a hundred spears and a hundred bows,
"And oil and wine and honey and milk,
"And always never-anxious sleep;
"While a hundred youths, mighty of limb,
"But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife,
"And a hundred maidens, merry as birds,
"Who when they dance to a fitful measure
"Have a speed like the speed of the salmon herds,
"Shall follow your horn and obey your whim,
246"And you shall know the Danaan leisure:
"And Niam be with you for a wife."
Then she sighed gently, "It grows late,
"Music and love and sleep await,
"Where I would be when the white moon climbs
"The red sun falls, and the world grows dim."

And then I mounted and she bound me
With her triumphing arms around me,
And whispering to herself enwound me;
But when the horse had felt my weight,
He shook himself and neighed three times:
Caolte, Conan, and Finn came near,
And wept, and raised their lamenting hands,
And bid me stay, with many a tear;
But we rode out from the human lands.

In what far kingdom do you go,
Ah, Fenians, with the shield and bow?
Or are you phantoms white as snow,
Whose lips had life's most prosperous glow?
O you, with whom in sloping valleys,
Or down the dewy forest alleys,
I chased at morn the flying deer,
With whom I hurled the hurrying spear,
247And heard the foemen's bucklers rattle,
And broke the heaving ranks of battle!
And Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,
Where are you with your long rough hair?
You go not where the red deer feeds,
Nor tear the foemen from their steeds.

"Why aren't you blowing a horn?" she asked.
"And every hero lowering their head?
"The hornless deer isn't any sadder
243"Than the many peaceful moments we've had,
"More sleek than any granary mouse,
"In its own leafy forest home
"Among the waving ferns:
"The hunting of heroes should be joyful."

"O lovely woman," replied Finn,
"We think of Oscar's carved urn,
"And the heroes lying dead,
On Gavra's crow-covered field;
"But where are your noble family,
"And from what country do you come?"

"My father and my mother are
"Aengus and Adene, my name is
"Niam, and my homeland lies far
"Beyond the crashing of this tide."

"What dream brought you here that you came
"Through the bitter tide on foam-wet feet?
"Did your companion wander away
"From where the birds of Aengus fly?"

She said, with laughter gentle and sweet:
244"I haven't yet, war-weary king,
"Been talked about by anyone;
"Yet now I choose, for these four feet
"Ran through the foam and came to this
"That I might have your son to kiss."

"Were there no better than my son
"That you would run through all that foam?"

"I loved no man, though kings pleaded
"Love, until the Danaan poets brought
"Rhyme that rhymed with Usheen's name,
"And now I'm dizzy with the thought
"Of all that wisdom and the fame
"Of battles won by his hands,
"Of stories built by his words
"That are like colorful Asian birds
"In the evening of their rainless lands."

O Patric, by your brazen bell,
There wasn't a part of me that didn't fall
Into a desperate pit of love!
"You alone will I wed," I cried,
"And I will create a thousand songs,
245"And place your name above all names.
"And captives bound with leather thongs
"Shall kneel and praise you, one by one,
"At evening in my western fortress."

"O Usheen, join me and ride
"To shores by the wash of the gentle tide,
"Where men haven't built burial mounds,
"And the days pass by like a wandering tune,
"Where broken faith has never been known,
"And the blushes of first love have never flown;
"And there I will give you a hundred hounds;
"No more powerful creatures bark at the moon;
"And a hundred robes of whispering silk,
"And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep
"Whose long wool flows whiter than sea foam,
"And a hundred spears and a hundred bows,
"And oil and wine and honey and milk,
"And always peaceful sleep;
"While a hundred strong youths,
"But knowing neither turmoil nor hate nor strife,
"And a hundred maidens, joyful as birds,
"Who when they dance to a lively measure
"Have a speed like the rush of the salmon herds,
"Shall follow your horn and obey your whim,
246"And you shall know the Danaan leisure:
"And Niam will be with you as a wife."
Then she sighed softly, "It's getting late,
"Music and love and sleep await,
"Where I want to be when the white moon rises
"The red sun sets, and the world grows dim."

Then I mounted and she wrapped me
In her triumphant arms,
And whispering to herself embraced me;
But when the horse felt my weight,
He shook himself and neighed three times:
Caolte, Conan, and Finn came near,
And wept, and raised their lamenting hands,
And begged me to stay, with many tears;
But we rode away from the human lands.

In what distant kingdom do you go,
Ah, Fenians, with shield and bow?
Or are you phantoms white as snow,
Whose lips had life's most prosperous glow?
O you, with whom in sloping valleys,
Or down the dewy forest paths,
I chased at dawn the fleeing deer,
With whom I threw the rushing spear,
247And heard the enemy's shields rattle,
And broke the heavy ranks of battle!
And Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,
Where are you with your long rough hair?
You do not go where the red deer feeds,
Nor tear the foes from their steeds.

S. PATRIC

Boast not, nor mourn with drooping head
Companions long accurst and dead,
And hounds for centuries dust and air.

Boast not, nor grieve with your head down
For companions long cursed and gone,
And hounds that have been dust and air for centuries.

USHEEN

We galloped over the glossy sea:
I know not if days passed or hours,
And Niam sang continually
Danaan songs, and their dewy showers
Of pensive laughter, unhuman sound,
Lulled weariness, and softly round
My human sorrow her white arms wound.

We galloped; now a hornless deer
Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound
All pearly white, save one red ear;
248And now a maiden rode like the wind
With an apple of gold in her tossing hand;
And a beautiful young man followed behind
With quenchless gaze and fluttering hair.

"Were these two born in the Danaan land,
"Or have they breathed the mortal air?"

"Vex them no longer," Niam said,
And sighing bowed her gentle head,
And sighing laid the pearly tip
Of one long finger on my lip.

But now the moon like a white rose shone
In the pale west, and the sun's rim sank,
And clouds arrayed their rank on rank
About his fading crimson ball:
The floor of Emen's hosting hall
Was not more level than the sea,
As full of loving phantasy,
And with low murmurs we rode on,
Where many a trumpet-twisted shell
That in immortal silence sleeps
Dreaming of her own melting hues,
Her golds, her ambers, and her blues,
249Pierced with soft light the shallowing deeps.

But now a wandering land breeze came
And a far sound of feathery quires;
It seemed to blow from the dying flame,
They seemed to sing in the smouldering fires.
The horse towards the music raced,
Neighing along the lifeless waste;
Like sooty fingers, many a tree
Rose ever out of the warm sea;
And they were trembling ceaselessly,
As though they all were beating time,
Upon the centre of the sun,
To that low laughing woodland rhyme.
And, now our wandering hours were done,
We cantered to the shore, and knew
The reason of the trembling trees:
Round every branch the song-birds flew,
Or clung thereon like swarming bees;
While round the shore a million stood
Like drops of frozen rainbow light,
And pondered in a soft vain mood
Upon their shadows in the tide,
And told the purple deeps their pride,
And murmured snatches of delight;
And on the shores were many boats
250With bending sterns and bending bows.

And carven figures on their prows
Of bitterns, and fish-eating stoats,
And swans with their exultant throats:
And where the wood and waters meet
We tied the horse in a leafy clump,
And Niam blew three merry notes
Out of a little silver trump;
And then an answering whispering flew
Over the bare and woody land,
A whisper of impetuous feet,
And ever nearer, nearer grew;
And from the woods rushed out a band
Of men and maidens, hand in hand,
And singing, singing altogether;
Their brows were white as fragrant milk,
Their cloaks made out of yellow silk,
And trimmed with many a crimson feather:
And when they saw the cloak I wore
Was dim with mire of a mortal shore,
They fingered it and gazed on me
And laughed like murmurs of the sea;
But Niam with a swift distress
Bid them away and hold their peace;
And when they heard her voice they ran
251And knelt them, every maid and man
And kissed, as they would never cease,
Her pearl-pale hand and the hem of her dress.
She bade them bring us to the hall
Where Aengus dreams, from sun to sun,
A Druid dream of the end of days
When the stars are to wane and the world be done.

They led us by long and shadowy ways
Where drops of dew in myriads fall,
And tangled creepers every hour
Blossom in some new crimson flower,
And once a sudden laughter sprang
From all their lips, and once they sang
Together, while the dark woods rang,
And made in all their distant parts,
With boom of bees in honey marts,
A rumour of delighted hearts.
And once a maiden by my side
Gave me a harp, and bid me sing,
And touch the laughing silver string;
But when I sang of human joy
A sorrow wrapped each merry face,
And, Patric! by your beard, they wept,
Until one came, a tearful boy;
252"A sadder creature never stept
"Than this strange human bard," he cried;
And caught the silver harp away,
And, weeping over the white strings, hurled
It down in a leaf-hid, hollow place
That kept dim waters from the sky;
And each one said, with a long, long sigh,
"O saddest harp in all the world,
"Sleep there till the moon and the stars die!"

And now still sad we came to where
A beautiful young man dreamed within
A house of wattles, clay, and skin;
One hand upheld his beardless chin,
And one a sceptre flashing out
Wild flames of red and gold and blue,
Like to a merry wandering rout
Of dancers leaping in the air;
And men and maidens knelt them there
And showed their eyes with teardrops dim,
And with low murmurs prayed to him,
And kissed the sceptre with red lips,
And touched it with their finger-tips.

He held that flashing sceptre up.
253"Joy drowns the twilight in the dew,
"And fills with stars night's purple cup,
"And wakes the sluggard seeds of corn,
"And stirs the young kid's budding horn.
"And makes the infant ferns unwrap,
"And for the peewit paints his cap,
"And rolls along the unwieldy sun,
"And makes the little planets run:
"And if joy were not on the earth,
"There were an end of change and birth,
"And earth and heaven and hell would die,
"And in some gloomy barrow lie
"Folded like a frozen fly;
"Then mock at Death and Time with glances
"And wavering arms and wandering dances.

"Men's hearts of old were drops of flame
"That from the saffron morning came,
"Or drops of silver joy that fell
"Out of the moon's pale twisted shell;
"But now hearts cry that hearts are slaves,
"And toss and turn in narrow caves;
"But here there is nor law nor rule,
"Nor have hands held a weary tool;
"And here there is nor Change nor Death,
254"But only kind and merry breath,
"For joy is God and God is joy."
With one long glance on maid and boy
And the pale blossom of the moon,
He fell into a Druid swoon.

And in a wild and sudden dance
We mocked at Time and Fate and Chance
And swept out of the wattled hall
And came to where the dewdrops fall
Among the foamdrops of the sea,
And there we hushed the revelry;
And, gathering on our brows a frown,
Bent all our swaying bodies down,
And to the waves that glimmer by
That sloping green De Danaan sod
Sang "God is joy and joy is God.
"And things that have grown sad are wicked,
"And things that fear the dawn of the morrow
"Or the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

We danced to where in the winding thicket
The damask roses, bloom on bloom,
Like crimson meteors hang in the gloom,
And bending over them softly said,
255Bending over them in the dance,
With a swift and friendly glance
From dewy eyes: "Upon the dead
"Fall the leaves of other roses,
"On the dead dim earth encloses:
"But never, never on our graves,
"Heaped beside the glimmering waves,
"Shall fall the leaves of damask roses.
"For neither Death nor Change comes near us,
"And all listless hours fear us,
"And we fear no dawning morrow,
"Nor the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

The dance wound through the windless woods;
The ever-summered solitudes;
Until the tossing arms grew still
Upon the woody central hill;
And, gathered in a panting band,
We flung on high each waving hand,
And sang unto the starry broods:
In our raised eyes there flashed a glow
Of milky brightness to and fro
As thus our song arose: "You stars,
"Across your wandering ruby cars
"Shake the loose reins: you slaves of God
256"He rules you with an iron rod,
"He holds you with an iron bond,
"Each one woven to the other,
"Each one woven to his brother
"Like bubbles in a frozen pond;
"But we in a lonely land abide
"Unchainable as the dim tide,
"With hearts that know nor law nor rule,
"And hands that hold no wearisome tool
"Folded in love that fears no morrow,
"Nor the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

O Patric! for a hundred years
I chased upon that woody shore
The deer, the badger, and the boar.
O Patric! for a hundred years
At evening on the glimmering sands,
Beside the piled-up hunting spears,
These now outworn and withered hands
Wrestled among the island bands.
O Patric! for a hundred years
We went a-fishing in long boats
With bending sterns and bending bows,
And carven figures on their prows
Of bitterns and fish-eating stoats.
257O Patric! for a hundred years
The gentle Niam was my wife;
But now two things devour my life;
The things that most of all I hate;
Fasting and prayers.

We rode fast across the shiny sea:
I couldn’t tell if days passed or just hours,
And Niam kept singing
Danaan songs, with their dewy showers
Of thoughtful laughter, almost magical sound,
That eased my weariness, and softly around
My human sorrow her white arms wrapped.

We rode hard; then a hornless deer
Zoomed by, chased by a ghostly hound
All pearly white, except one red ear;
248Then a maiden rode like the wind
With a golden apple in her tossing hand;
And a handsome young man followed behind
With an unquenchable gaze and flowing hair.

"Were these two born in Danaan land,
"Or have they taken a breath of the mortal world?"

"Don't bother them anymore," Niam said,
And, with a sigh, bowed her gentle head,
And sighed again, placing the pearly tip
Of one long finger on my lips.

But then the moon shone like a white rose
In the pale west, and the sun began to sink,
While clouds lined up in ranks
Around his fading crimson orb:
The floor of Emen's hall
Was not more level than the sea,
So full of loving fantasy,
And with soft murmurs we rode on,
Where many trumpet-like shells
That sleep in immortal silence
Dream of their own melting colors,
Their golds, their ambers, and their blues,
249Pierced with soft light the shallowing depths.

But then a wandering breeze stirred
And a distant sound of soft choirs;
It seemed to blow from a dying flame,
They seemed to sing from the smoldering fires.
The horse raced towards the music,
Neighing across the lifeless expanse;
Like sooty fingers, many trees
Rose out of the warm sea;
And they trembled ceaselessly,
As if they were all keeping time,
Upon the center of the sun,
To that low, laughing woodland tune.
And as our wandering hours came to an end,
We cantered to the shore and understood
The reason for the trembling trees:
Around each branch the songbirds flew,
Or clung like swarming bees;
While around the shore a million stood
Like drops of frozen rainbow light,
Pondering in a soft, vain mood
Over their shadows in the tide,
Boasting to the purple depths their pride,
And murmuring snippets of delight;
And along the shores were many boats
250With bending sterns and curved bows.

And carved figures on their prows
Of bitterns, fish-eating stoats,
And swans with their proud necks:
And where the woods meet the waters
We tied the horse in a leafy thicket,
And Niam played three cheerful notes
From a small silver trumpet;
And then a responding whisper flew
Across the barren, wooded land,
A whisper of hurried feet,
And ever nearer, they came;
And from the woods rushed out a group
Of men and women, hand in hand,
Singing in unison;
Their brows were as white as fragrant milk,
Their cloaks made of yellow silk,
Trimmed with many crimson feathers:
And when they saw my cloak
Was stained with the mud of the mortal shore,
They touched it and gazed at me
And laughed like the murmurs of the sea;
But Niam quickly, with distress,
Told them to go away and be quiet;
And when they heard her voice they ran
251And knelt, every maid and man
And kissed, as if they’d never stop,
Her pearl-pale hand and the hem of her dress.
She asked them to take us to the hall
Where Aengus dreams, from sun to sun,
A Druid dream of the end of days
When the stars will fade and the world will end.

They led us through long, shadowy paths
Where drops of dew fell in droves,
And tangled vines every hour
Blossomed with some new crimson flower,
And once a sudden laughter burst
From all their lips, and once they sang
Together, as the dark woods rang,
And echoed in all distant parts,
With buzzing bees in honey markets,
A sound of happy hearts.
And once a maiden by my side
Gave me a harp and urged me to sing,
And touch the laughing silver string;
But when I sang of human joy
A sorrow wrapped every merry face,
And, Patric! by your beard, they wept,
Until one came, a tearful boy;
252"A sadder creature never stepped
"Than this strange human bard," he cried;
And took the silver harp away,
And, weeping over the white strings, threw
It down in a leaf-hidden, hollow spot
That kept dim waters from the sky;
And each one sighed, with a long, long breath,
"O saddest harp in all the world,
"Sleep there until the moon and stars die!"

And now still sad, we arrived at where
A beautiful young man dreamed inside
A house of wattles, clay, and skin;
One hand held his beardless chin,
And one a scepter shining bright
With wild flames of red and gold and blue,
Like a merry, wandering group
Of dancers leaping in the air;
And men and women knelt before him
And showed their eyes with tear-filled gaze,
And with low murmurs prayed to him,
And kissed the scepter with red lips,
And touched it with their fingers.

He lifted that shining scepter high.
253"Joy floods the twilight with dew,
“And fills with stars the night’s purple cup,
“And wakes the sluggard seeds of corn,
“And stirs the young kid’s budding horn.
“And makes the newborn ferns unfold,
“And paints the peewit’s cap so bold,
“And moves the unwieldy sun along,
“And makes the little planets run:
“And if joy didn’t exist on earth,
“There would be an end to change and birth,
“And earth and heaven and hell would die,
“And lie in some gloomy grave,
"Folded like a frozen fly;
"Then mock at Death and Time with glances
"And swaying arms and wandering dances.

"Men’s hearts of old were drops of flame
"That came from the saffron morning’s light,
"Or drops of silver joy that fell
"Out of the moon’s pale twisted shell;
"But now hearts cry that they’re but slaves,
"And toss and turn in narrow caves;
"But here there’s no law, no rule,
"Nor have hands held a weary tool;
"And here there's no Change or Death,
254“But only kind and merry breath,
“For joy is God and God is joy."
With one long look at maid and boy
And the pale blossom of the moon,
He fell into a Druid trance.

And in a wild and sudden dance
We mocked Time, Fate, and Chance
And swept out of the wattled hall
And came to where the dewdrops fall
Among the sea's foam,
And there we hushed the revelry;
And, frowning as we gathered,
Bowed all our swaying bodies down,
And to the waves that shine by
That sloping green De Danaan land
Sang, "God is joy and joy is God.
"And things that have grown sad are wicked,
"And things that dread the dawn of tomorrow
"Or the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

We danced to where in the winding thicket
The damask roses, bloom on bloom,
Like crimson meteors hung in the gloom,
And as we bent over them we softly said,
255While bending over them in the dance,
With a quick, friendly glance
From dewy eyes: "On the dead
"Fall the leaves of other roses,
"On the dead dim earth encloses:
"But never, never on our graves,
"Heaped beside the glimmering waves,
"Shall fall the leaves of damask roses.
"For neither Death nor Change comes near us,
"And all aimless hours fear us,
"And we fear no coming tomorrow,
"Nor the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

The dance wound through the windless woods;
The ever-summered solitudes;
Until the tossing arms grew still
Upon the woody central hill;
And, gathered breathlessly in a band,
We raised every waving hand,
And sang to the starry thrones:
In our lifted eyes there shone a glow
Of milky brightness to and fro
As our song arose: "You stars,
"Across your wandering ruby chariots
"Shake the loose reins: you slaves of God
256"He rules you with an iron rod,
"He holds you with an iron bond,
"Each one woven to the other,
"Each one woven to his brother
"Like bubbles in a frozen pond;
"But we in a lonely land abide
"Unchainable as the dim tide,
"With hearts that know no law nor rule,
"And hands that hold no tiring tool
"Folded in love that fears no tomorrow,
"Nor the gray wandering osprey Sorrow."

O Patric! for a hundred years
I chased across that wooded shore
The deer, the badger, and the boar.
O Patric! for a hundred years
In the evenings on the glimmering sands,
Beside the piled-up hunting spears,
These now outworn and withered hands
Wrestled among the island bands.
O Patric! for a hundred years
We went fishing in long boats
With bending sterns and curved bows,
And carved figures on their prows
Of bitterns and fish-eating stoats.
257O Patric! for a hundred years
The gentle Niam was my wife;
But now two things consume my life;
The things I hate the most;
Fasting and prayers.

S. PATRIC

St. Patrick

Tell on.

Go ahead.

USHEEN

Yes, yes,
For these were ancient Usheen's fate
Loosed long ago from heaven's gate,
For his last days to lie in wait.

When one day by the tide I stood,
I found in that forgetfulness
Of dreamy foam a staff of wood
From some dead warrior's broken lance:
I turned it in my hands; the stains
Of war were on it, and I wept,
Remembering how the Fenians stept
Along the blood-bedabbled plains,
Equal to good or grievous chance:
Thereon young Niam softly came
258And caught my hands, but spake no word
Save only many times my name,
In murmurs, like a frighted bird.
We passed by woods, and lawns of clover,
And found the horse and bridled him,
For we knew well the old was over.
I heard one say "His eyes grow dim
"With all the ancient sorrow of men";
And wrapped in dreams rode out again
With hoofs of the pale findrinny
Over the glimmering purple sea:
Under the golden evening light.
The immortals moved among the fountains
By rivers and the woods' old night;
Some danced like shadows on the mountains,
Some wandered ever hand in hand,
Or sat in dreams on the pale strand;
Each forehead like an obscure star
Bent down above each hooked knee:
And sang, and with a dreamy gaze
Watched where the sun in a saffron blaze
Was slumbering half in the sea ways;
And, as they sang, the painted birds
Kept time with their bright wings and feet;
Like drops of honey came their words,
259But fainter than a young lamb's bleat.

"An old man stirs the fire to a blaze,
"In the house of a child, of a friend, of a brother
"He has over-lingered his welcome; the days,
"Grown desolate, whisper and sigh to each other;
"He hears the storm in the chimney above,
"And bends to the fire and shakes with the cold,
"While his heart still dreams of battle and love,
"And the cry of the hounds on the hills of old.

"But we are apart in the grassy places,
"Where care cannot trouble the least of our days,
"Or the softness of youth be gone from our faces,
"Or love's first tenderness die in our gaze.
"The hare grows old as she plays in the sun
"And gazes around her with eyes of brightness;
"Before the swift things that she dreamed of were done
"She limps along in an aged whiteness;
"A storm of birds in the Asian trees
"Like tulips in the air a-winging,
"And the gentle waves of the summer seas,
"That raise their heads and wander singing.
"Must murmur at last 'Unjust, unjust';
"And 'My speed is a weariness,' falters the mouse
"And the kingfisher turns to a ball of dust,
260"And the roof falls in of his tunnelled house.

"But the love-dew dims our eyes till the day
"When God shall come from the sea with a sigh
"And bid the stars drop down from the sky,
"And the moon like a pale rose wither away."

Yeah, sure,
These were the fate of ancient Usheen,
Released long ago from heaven's gate,
To spend his final days in wait.

One day, while standing by the tide,
I found in that forgetfulness
Of dreamy foam a wooden staff
From some fallen warrior's broken lance:
I turned it over in my hands; the stains
Of battle were on it, and I cried,
Remembering how the Fenians strode
Across the blood-soaked plains,
Ready for good or bad fortune:
Young Niam softly approached
258And took my hands, saying nothing
Except for my name many times,
In whispers, like a frightened bird.
We walked through woods and clover fields,
And found the horse and bridled him,
Knowing well that the old days were over.
I heard someone say, "His eyes are dim
"With all the ancient sorrow of humanity";
And wrapped in dreams rode out again
With the hooves of the pale findrinny
Across the shimmering purple sea:
Under the golden evening light.
The immortals moved among the fountains
By rivers and the woods' old night;
Some danced like shadows on the mountains,
Some wandered hand in hand,
Or sat in dreams on the pale shore;
Each forehead like a distant star
Bowed down above each bent knee:
And sang, with a dreamy gaze
Watched where the sun in a saffron blaze
Was resting half in the sea;
And, as they sang, the colorful birds
Matched their rhythm with bright wings and feet;
Their words flowed like drops of honey,
259But fainter than a young lamb's bleat.

"An old man stirs the fire to a blaze,
"In the home of a child, of a friend, of a brother;
"He has overstayed his welcome; the days,
"Grown lonely, whisper and sigh to each other;
"He hears the storm in the chimney above,
"And leans to the fire, shivering with the cold,
"While his heart still dreams of battle and love,
"And the sound of the hounds on the hills of old.

"But we are apart in the grassy places,
"Where worry cannot touch a single day,
"Or the softness of youth fade from our faces,
"Or love's first tenderness vanish from our gaze.
"The hare grows old while playing in the sun
"And looks around with bright eyes;
"Before the swift dreams she had were done
"She limps on in aged white;
"A storm of birds in the Asian trees
"Like tulips flying through the air,
"And the gentle waves of summer seas,
"That raise their heads and wander singing.
"Must finally whisper 'Unjust, unjust';
"And 'My speed is a burden,' the mouse says
"And the kingfisher turns to a cloud of dust,
260"As the roof of his tunneled home collapses.

"But the love-dew dims our eyes until the day
"When God shall come from the sea with a sigh
"And ask the stars to fall from the sky,
"And the moon like a pale rose fade away."

BOOK II

263

Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And then away, away, like whirling flames;
And now fled by, mist-covered, without sound,
The youth and lady and the deer and hound;
"Gaze no more on the phantoms," Niam said,
And kissed my eyes, and, swaying her bright head
And her bright body, sang of faery and man
Before God was or my old line began;
Wars shadowy, vast, exultant; faeries of old
Who wedded men with rings of Druid gold;
And how those lovers never turn their eyes
Upon the life that fades and flickers and dies,
But love and kiss on dim shores far away
Rolled round with music of the sighing spray:
But sang no more, as when, like a brown bee
That has drunk full, she crossed the misty sea
With me in her white arms a hundred years
Before this day; for now the fall of tears
264Troubled her song.

I do not know if days
Or hours passed by, yet hold the morning rays
Shone many times among the glimmering flowers
Woven into her hair, before dark towers
Rose in the darkness, and the white surf gleamed
About them; and the horse of faery screamed
And shivered, knowing the Isle of many Fears,
Nor ceased until white Niam stroked his ears
And named him by sweet names.

A foaming tide
Whitened afar with surge, fan-formed and wide,
Burst from a great door marred by many a blow
From mace and sword and pole-axe, long ago
When gods and giants warred. We rode between
The seaweed-covered pillars, and the green
And surging phosphorus alone gave light
On our dark pathway, till a countless flight
Of moonlit steps glimmered; and left and right
Dark statues glimmered over the pale tide
Upon dark thrones. Between the lids of one
The imaged meteors had flashed and run
And had disported in the stilly jet,
265And the fixed stars had dawned and shone and set,
Since God made Time and Death and Sleep: the other
Stretched his long arm to where, a misty smother,
The stream churned, churned, and churned—his lips apart,
As though he told his never slumbering heart
Of every foamdrop on its misty way:
Tying the horse to his vast foot that lay
Half in the unvesselled sea, we climbed the stairs
And climbed so long, I thought the last steps were
Hung from the morning star; when these mild words
Fanned the delighted air like wings of birds:
"My brothers spring out of their beds at morn,
"A-murmur like young partridge: with loud horn
"They chase the noontide deer;
"And when the dew-drowned stars hang in the air
"Look to long fishing-lines, or point and pare
"An ash-wood hunting spear.

"O sigh, O fluttering sigh, be kind to me;
"Flutter along the froth lips of the sea,
"And shores, the froth lips wet:
"And stay a little while, and bid them weep:
"Ah, touch their blue-veined eyelids if they sleep,
266"And shake their coverlet.

"When you have told how I weep endlessly,
"Flutter along the froth lips of the sea
"And home to me again,
"And in the shadow of my hair lie hid,
"And tell me how you came to one unbid,
"The saddest of all men."

A maiden with soft eyes like funeral tapers,
And face that seemed wrought out of moonlit vapours,
And a sad mouth, that fear made tremulous
As any ruddy moth, looked down on us;
And she with a wave-rusted chain was tied
To two old eagles, full of ancient pride,
That with dim eyeballs stood on either side.
Few feathers were on their dishevelled wings,
For their dim minds were with the ancient things.

"I bring deliverance," pearl-pale Niam said.

"Neither the living, nor the unlabouring dead,
"Nor the high gods who never lived, may fight
"My enemy and hope; demons for fright
"Jabber and scream about him in the night;
"For he is strong and crafty as the seas
267"That sprang under the Seven Hazel Trees,
"And I must needs endure and hate and weep,
"Until the gods and demons drop asleep,
"Hearing Aed touch the mournful strings of gold."

"Is he so dreadful?"

"Be not over bold,
"But flee while you may flee from him."

Then I:
"This demon shall be pierced and drop and die,
"And his loose bulk be thrown in the loud tide."

"Flee from him," pearl-pale Niam weeping cried,
"For all men flee the demons"; but moved not
My angry, king remembering soul one jot;
There was no mightier soul of Heber's line;
Now it is old and mouse-like: for a sign
I burst the chain: still earless, nerveless, blind,
Wrapped in the things of the unhuman mind,
In some dim memory or ancient mood
Still earless, nerveless, blind, the eagles stood.

And then we climbed the stair to a high door;
268A hundred horsemen on the basalt floor
Beneath had paced content: we held our way
And stood within: clothed in a misty ray
I saw a foam-white seagull drift and float
Under the roof, and with a straining throat
Shouted, and hailed him: he hung there a star,
For no man's cry shall ever mount so far;
Not even your God could have thrown down that hall;
Stabling His unloosed lightnings in their stall,
He had sat down and sighed with cumbered heart,
As though His hour were come.

We sought the part
That was most distant from the door; green slime
Made the way slippery, and time on time
Showed prints of sea-born scales, while down through it
The captive's journeys to and fro were writ
Like a small river, and, where feet touched, came
A momentary gleam of phosphorus flame.
Under the deepest shadows of the hall
That maiden found a ring hung on the wall,
And in the ring a torch, and with its flare
Making a world about her in the air,
Passed under a dim doorway, out of sight
269And came again, holding a second light
Burning between her fingers, and in mine
Laid it and sighed: I held a sword whose shine
No centuries could dim: and a word ran
Thereon in Ogham letters, "Mananan";
That sea god's name, who in a deep content
Sprang dripping, and, with captive demons sent
Out of the seven-fold seas, built the dark hall
Rooted in foam and clouds, and cried to all
The mightier masters of a mightier race;
And at his cry there came no milk-pale face
Under a crown of thorns and dark with blood,
But only exultant faces.

Niam stood
With bowed head, trembling when the white blade shone,
But she whose hours of tenderness were gone
Had neither hope nor fear. I bade them hide
Under the shadows till the tumults died
Of the loud crashing and earth shaking fight,
Lest they should look upon some dreadful sight;
And thrust the torch between the slimy flags.
A dome made out of endless carven jags,
Where shadowy face flowed into shadowy face,
270Looked down on me; and in the self-same place
I waited hour by hour, and the high dome,
Windowless, pillarless, multitudinous home
Of faces, waited; and the leisured gaze
Was loaded with the memory of days
Buried and mighty. When through the great door
The dawn came in, and glimmered on the floor
With a pale light, I journeyed round the hall
And found a door deep sunken in the wall,
The least of doors; beyond on a dim plain
A little runnel made a bubbling strain,
And on the runnel's stony and bare edge
A husky demon dry as a withered sedge
Swayed, crooning to himself an unknown tongue:
In a sad revelry he sang and swung
Bacchant and mournful, passing to and fro
His hand along the runnel's side, as though
The flowers still grew there: far on the sea's waste
Shaking and waving, vapour vapour chased,
While high frail cloudlets, fed with a green light,
Like drifts of leaves, immovable and bright,
Hung in the passionate dawn. He slowly turned:
A demon's leisure: eyes, first white, now burned
Like wings of kingfishers; and he arose
Barking. We trampled up and down with blows
271Of sword and brazen battle-axe, while day
Gave to high noon and noon to night gave way;
And when at withering of the sun he knew
The Druid sword of Mananan, he grew
To many shapes; I lunged at the smooth throat
Of a great eel; it changed, and I but smote
A fir-tree roaring in its leafless top;
I held a dripping corpse, with livid chop
And sunken shape, against my face and breast,
When I tore down the tree; but when the west
Surged up in plumy fire, I lunged and drave
Through heart and spine, and cast him in the wave,
Lest Niam shudder.

Full of hope and dread
Those two came carrying wine and meat and bread,
And healed my wounds with unguents out of flowers
That feed white moths by some De Danaan shrine;
Then in that hall, lit by the dim sea shine,
We lay on skins of otters, and drank wine,
Brewed by the sea-gods, from huge cups that lay
Upon the lips of sea-gods in their day;
And then on heaped-up skins of otters slept.
272But when the sun once more in saffron stept,
Rolling his flagrant wheel out of the deep,
We sang the loves and angers without sleep,
And all the exultant labours of the strong:

But now the lying clerics murder song
With barren words and flatteries of the weak.
In what land do the powerless turn the beak
Of ravening Sorrow, or the hand of Wrath?
For all your croziers, they have left the path
And wander in the storms and clinging snows,
Hopeless for ever: ancient Usheen knows,
For he is weak and poor and blind, and lies
On the anvil of the world.

Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And then away, away, like whirling flames;
And now fled by, mist-covered, without sound,
The youth and lady and the deer and hound;
"Gaze no more at the phantoms," Niam said,
And kissed my eyes, and, swaying her bright head
And her bright body, sang of faery and man
Before God existed or my old line began;
Shadowy, vast wars; ancient faeries bold
Who married men with rings of Druid gold;
And how those lovers never look back
At the life that fades and flickers and cracks,
But love and kiss on dim shores far away
Wrapped in music of the sighing spray:
But sang no more, like a brown bee
That has drunk its fill, she crossed the misty sea
With me in her white arms a hundred years
Before this day; for now the fall of tears
264Troubled her song.

I don't know if days
Or hours passed by, yet hold the morning rays
Shone many times among the glimmering flowers
Woven into her hair, before dark towers
Rose in the darkness, and the white surf gleamed
Around them; and the faery horse screamed
And shivered, knowing the Isle of many Fears,
Nor ceased until white Niam stroked his ears
And named him with sweet names.

A frothy wave
Whitened afar with surge, fan-formed and wide,
Burst from a great door damaged by many a blow
From mace and sword and pole-axe, long ago
When gods and giants battled. We rode between
The seaweed-covered pillars, and the green
And surging phosphorus alone gave light
On our dark pathway, till a countless flight
Of moonlit steps glimmered; and left and right
Dark statues glimmered over the pale tide
Upon dark thrones. Between the lids of one
The imaged meteors had flashed and run
And had played in the still jet,
265And the fixed stars had dawned and shone and set,
Since God made Time and Death and Sleep: the other
Stretched his long arm to where, a misty smother,
The stream churned, churned, and churned—his lips apart,
As though he told his never-sleeping heart
Of every foamdrop on its misty way:
Tying the horse to his vast foot that lay
Half in the unvesselled sea, we climbed the stairs
And climbed so long, I thought the last steps were
Hung from the morning star; when these mild words
Fanned the delighted air like wings of birds:
"My brothers spring out of their beds at dawn,
"A-murmur like young partridges: with loud horn
"They chase the noon deer;
"And when the dew-drenched stars hang in the air
"Look to long fishing-lines, or point and pare
"An ash-wood hunting spear.

"O sigh, O fluttering sigh, be kind to me;
"Flutter along the frothy lips of the sea,
"And shores, the frothy lips wet:
"And stay a little while, and bid them weep:
"Ah, touch their blue-veined eyelids if they sleep,
266"And shake their coverlet.

"When you have told how I weep endlessly,
"Flutter along the frothy lips of the sea
"And home to me again,
"And in the shadow of my hair lie hidden,
"And tell me how you came to one uninvited,
"The saddest of all men."

A maiden with soft eyes like funeral candles,
And a face that seemed made out of moonlit vapours,
And a sad mouth, that fear made tremble
Like any ruddy moth, looked down on us;
And she with a wave-rusted chain was tied
To two old eagles, full of ancient pride,
That with dim eyeballs stood on either side.
Few feathers were on their disheveled wings,
For their dim minds were lost in ancient things.

"I bring deliverance," pearl-pale Niam said.

"Neither the living, nor the unlabouring dead,
"Nor the high gods who never lived, may fight
"My enemy and hope; demons for fright
"Jabber and scream about him in the night;
"For he is strong and crafty as the seas
267"That sprang under the Seven Hazel Trees,
"And I must endure and hate and weep,
"Until the gods and demons fall asleep,
"Hearing Aed touch the mournful strings of gold."

"Is he so dreadful?"

"Don’t be too bold,"
"But flee while you can flee from him."

Then I:
"This demon shall be pierced and drop and die,
"And his loose bulk be thrown in the loud tide."

"Flee from him," pearl-pale Niam weeping cried,
"For all men flee the demons"; but my angry, kingly soul
Was unmoved not one bit;
There was no mightier soul of Heber's line;
Now it is old and mouse-like: for a sign
I broke the chain: still earless, nerveless, blind,
Wrapped in the things of the unhuman mind,
In some dim memory or ancient mood
Still earless, nerveless, blind, the eagles stood.

And then we climbed the stair to a high door;
268A hundred horsemen on the basalt floor
Beneath had paced content: we held our way
And stood within: clothed in a misty ray
I saw a foam-white seagull drift and float
Under the roof, and with a straining throat
Shouted, and hailed him: he hung there a star,
For no man's cry shall ever mount so far;
Not even your God could have thrown down that hall;
Stabling His unloosed lightnings in their stall,
He had sat down and sighed with a burdened heart,
As though His hour had come.

We looked for the part
That was furthest from the door; green slime
Made the way slippery, and time on time
Showed prints of sea-born scales, while down through it
The captive's journeys to and fro were marked
Like a small river, and, where feet touched, gleamed
A momentary flare of phosphorus flame.
Under the deepest shadows of the hall
That maiden found a ring hung on the wall,
And in the ring a torch, and with its flare
Making a world around her in the air,
Passed under a dim doorway, out of sight
269And came again, holding a second light
Burning between her fingers, and in mine
Laid it and sighed: I held a sword whose shine
No centuries could dull: and a word ran
Thereon in Ogham letters, "Mananan";
That sea god's name, who in deep content
Sprang dripping, and, with captive demons sent
Out of the seven-fold seas, built the dark hall
Rooted in foam and clouds, and cried to all
The mightier masters of a mightier race;
And at his cry there came no milk-pale face
Under a crown of thorns and dark with blood,
But only exultant faces.

Niam stood.
With bowed head, trembling when the white blade shone,
But she whose hours of tenderness were gone
Had neither hope nor fear. I bade them hide
Under the shadows till the tumult died
Of the loud crashes and earth-shaking fight,
Lest they should look upon some dreadful sight;
And thrust the torch between the slimy flags.
A dome made out of endless carved jags,
Where shadowy face flowed into shadowy face,
270Looked down on me; and in the same place
I waited hour by hour, and the high dome,
Windowless, pillarless, multitude-filled home
Of faces, waited; and the leisured gaze
Was loaded with the memory of days
Buried and mighty. When through the great door
The dawn came in, and glimmered on the floor
With a pale light, I journeyed round the hall
And found a door deep sunken in the wall,
The least of doors; beyond on a dim plain
A little runnel made a bubbling strain,
And on the runnel's stony and bare edge
A husky demon dry as withered sedge
Swayed, crooning to himself an unknown tongue:
In sad revelry he sang and swung
Bacchant and mournful, passing to and fro
His hand along the runnel's side, as though
The flowers still grew there: far on the sea's waste
Shaking and waving, vapor chased vapor,
While high frail cloudlets, fed with a green light,
Like drifts of leaves, immovable and bright,
Hung in the passionate dawn. He slowly turned:
A demon's leisure: eyes, first white, now burned
Like wings of kingfishers; and he arose
Barking. We trampled up and down with blows
271Of sword and bronze battle-axe, while day
Gave way to high noon and noon to night;
And when at the fading of the sun he knew
The Druid sword of Mananan, he grew
To many shapes; I lunged at the smooth throat
Of a great eel; it changed, and I just struck
A fir-tree roaring in its leafless top;
I held a dripping corpse, with livid chop
And sunken shape, against my face and breast,
When I tore down the tree; but when the west
Surged up in plumy fire, I lunged and drove
Through heart and spine, and cast him in the wave,
Lest Niam shudder.

Hopeful yet anxious
Those two came carrying wine and meat and bread,
And healed my wounds with unguents from flowers
That feed white moths by some De Danaan shrine;
Then in that hall, lit by the dim sea shine,
We lay on skins of otters, and drank wine,
Brewed by the sea gods, from huge cups that lay
Upon the lips of sea gods in their day;
And then on heaped-up skins of otters slept.
272But when the sun once more in saffron stepped,
Rolling his flagrant wheel out of the deep,
We sang the loves and passions without sleep,
And all the exultant labors of the strong:

But now the lying clerics murder song
With barren words and flatteries of the weak.
In what land do the powerless turn the beak
Of ravening Sorrow, or the hand of Wrath?
For all your croziers, they have left the path
And wander in the storms and clinging snows,
Hopeless forever: ancient Usheen knows,
For he is weak and poor and blind, and lies
On the anvil of the world.

S. PATRIC

S. PATRICK

Be still: the skies
Are choked with thunder, lightning, and fierce wind,
For God has heard, and speaks His angry mind;
Go cast your body on the stones and pray,
For He has wrought midnight and dawn and day.

Be quiet: the heavens
Are filled with thunder, lightning, and strong winds,
For God has listened, and expresses His anger;
Go throw yourself on the ground and pray,
For He has created midnight, dawn, and day.

USHEEN

Saint, do you weep? I hear amid the thunder
The Fenian horses; armour torn asunder;
273Laughter and cries; the armies clash and shock;
All is done now; I see the ravens flock;
Ah, cease, you mournful, laughing Fenian horn!

We feasted for three days. On the fourth morn
I found, dropping sea foam on the wide stair,
And hung with slime, and whispering in his hair,
That demon dull and unsubduable;
And once more to a day-long battle fell,
And at the sundown threw him in the surge,
To lie until the fourth morn saw emerge
His new healed shape: and for a hundred years
So warred, so feasted, with nor dreams nor fears,
Nor languor nor fatigue: and endless feast,
An endless war.

The hundred years had ceased;
I stood upon the stair: the surges bore
A beech bough to me, and my heart grew sore,
Remembering how I had stood by white-haired Finn
Under a beech at Emen and heard the thin
Outcry of bats.

And then young Niam came
Holding that horse, and sadly called my name;
I mounted, and we passed over the lone
274And drifting grayness, while this monotone,
Surly and distant, mixed inseparably
Into the clangour of the wind and sea.

"I hear my soul drop down into decay,
"And Mananan's dark tower, stone by stone,
"Gather sea slime and fall the seaward way,
"And the moon goad the waters night and day,
"That all be overthrown.

"But till the moon has taken all, I wage
"War on the mightiest men under the skies,
"And they have fallen or fled, age after age:
"Light is man's love, and lighter is man's rage;
"His purpose drifts and dies."

And then lost Niam murmured, "Love, we go
"To the Island of Forgetfulness, for lo!
"The Islands of Dancing and of Victories
"Are empty of all power."

"And which of these
"Is the Island of Content?"

"None know," she said;
And on my bosom laid her weeping head.

Saint, are you crying? I hear amidst the thunder
The Fenian horses; armor torn apart;
273Laughter and screams; the armies clash and collide;
Everything is done now; I see the ravens gather;
Oh, stop, you sorrowful, mocking Fenian horn!

We celebrated for three days. On the fourth morning
I found, dripping sea foam on the wide stair,
And covered in slime, whispering in his hair,
That dull and unconquerable demon;
And once again engaged in a day-long battle,
And at sunset tossed him into the waves,
To rest until the fourth morning revealed
His newly healed form: and for a hundred years
We fought, we feasted, without dreams or fears,
No weariness or fatigue: an endless feast,
An endless war.

The century had ended;
I stood on the stair: the waves brought
A beech branch to me, and my heart ached,
Remembering how I had stood by white-haired Finn
Under a beech at Emen and heard the faint
Screech of bats.

And then young Niam showed up
Holding that horse, and sadly called my name;
I got on, and we moved over the lonely
274And drifting grayness, while this monotone,
Grumpy and far away, mixed inseparably
Into the noise of the wind and sea.

"I hear my soul descending into decay,
"And Mananan's dark tower, stone by stone,
"Gather sea slime and tumble into the sea,
"And the moon urges the waters day and night,
"Until all is overthrown.

"But until the moon has taken everything, I fight
"Against the strongest men beneath the skies,
"And they have fallen or fled, age after age:
"Light is man's love, and lighter is man's rage;
"His purpose drifts and fades."

And then lost Niam whispered, "Love, we go
"To the Island of Forgetfulness, for behold!
"The Islands of Dancing and Victories
"Are devoid of all power."

"And which of these"
"Is the Island of Content?"

"Nobody knows," she said;
And laid her weeping head on my chest.

BOOK III

277

Fled foam underneath us, and around us, a wandering and milky smoke,
High as the saddle girth, covering away from our glances the tide;
And those that fled, and that followed, from the foam-pale distance broke;
The immortal desire of immortals we saw in their faces, and sighed.

I mused on the chase with the Fenians, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair,
And never a song sang Niam, and over my finger-tips
Came now the sliding of tears and sweeping of mist-cold hair,
And now the warmth of sighs, and after the quiver of lips.

Were we days long or hours long in riding, when rolled in a grisly peace,
278An isle lay level before us, with dripping hazel and oak?
And we stood on a sea's edge we saw not; for whiter than new-washed fleece
Fled foam underneath us, and round us, a wandering and milky smoke.

And we rode on the plains of the sea's edge; the sea's edge barren and gray,
Gray sand on the green of the grasses and over the dripping trees,
Dripping and doubling landward, as though they would hasten away
Like an army of old men longing for rest from the moan of the seas.

But the trees grew taller and closer, immense in their wrinkling bark;
Dropping; a murmurous dropping; old silence and that one sound;
For no live creatures lived there, no weasels moved in the dark:
Long sighs arose in our spirits, beneath us bubbled the ground.

279And the ears of the horse went sinking away in the hollow night,
For, as drift from a sailor slow drowning the gleams of the world and the sun,
Ceased on our hands and our faces, on hazel and oak leaf, the light,
And the stars were blotted above us, and the whole of the world was one.

Till the horse gave a whinny; for, cumbrous with stems of the hazel and oak,
A valley flowed down from his hoofs, and there in the long grass lay,
Under the starlight and shadow, a monstrous slumbering folk,
Their naked and gleaming bodies poured out and heaped in the way.

And by them were arrow and war-axe, arrow and shield and blade;
And dew-blanched horns, in whose hollow a child of three years old
Could sleep on a couch of rushes, and all inwrought and inlaid,
280And more comely than man can make them with bronze and silver and gold.

And each of the huge white creatures was huger than fourscore men;
The tops of their ears were feathered, their hands were the claws of birds,
And, shaking the plumes of the grasses and the leaves of the mural glen,
The breathing came from those bodies, long-warless, grown whiter than curds.

The wood was so spacious above them, that He who had stars for His flocks
Could fondle the leaves with His fingers, nor go from His dew-cumbered skies;
So long were they sleeping, the owls had builded their nests in their locks,
Filling the fibrous dimness with long generations of eyes.

And over the limbs and the valley the slow owls wandered and came,
Now in a place of star-fire, and now in a shadow place wide;
And the chief of the huge white creatures, his knees in the soft star-flame,
281Lay loose in a place of shadow: we drew the reins by his side.

Golden the nails of his bird-claws, flung loosely along the dim ground;
In one was a branch soft-shining, with bells more many than sighs,
In midst of an old man's bosom; owls ruffling and pacing around,
Sidled their bodies against him, filling the shade with their eyes.

And my gaze was thronged with the sleepers; no, not since the world began,
In realms where the handsome were many, nor in glamours by demons flung,
Have faces alive with such beauty been known to the salt eye of man,
Yet weary with passions that faded when the seven-fold seas were young.

And I gazed on the bell-branch, sleep's forebear, far sung by the Sennachies.
I saw how those slumberers, grown weary, there camping in grasses deep,
282Of wars with the wide world and pacing the shores of the wandering seas,
Laid hands on the bell-branch and swayed it, and fed of unhuman sleep.

Snatching the horn of Niam, I blew a lingering note;
Came sound from those monstrous sleepers, a sound like the stirring of flies.
He, shaking the fold of his lips, and heaving the pillar of his throat,
Watched me with mournful wonder out of the wells of his eyes.

I cried, "Come out of the shadow, king of the nails of gold!
"And tell of your goodly household and the goodly works of your hands,
"That we may muse in the starlight and talk of the battles of old;
"Your questioner, Usheen, is worthy, he comes from the Fenian lands."

Half open his eyes were, and held me, dull with the smoke of their dreams;
283His lips moved slowly in answer, no answer out of them came;
Then he swayed in his fingers the bell-branch, slow dropping a sound in faint streams
Softer than snow-flakes in April and piercing the marrow like flame.

Wrapt in the wave of that music, with weariness more than of earth,
The moil of my centuries filled me; and gone like a sea-covered stone
Were the memories of the whole of my sorrow and the memories of the whole of my mirth,
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

In the roots of the grasses, the sorrels, I laid my body as low;
And the pearl-pale Niam lay by me, her brow on the midst of my breast;
And the horse was gone in the distance, and years after years 'gan flow;
Square leaves of the ivy moved over us, binding us down to our rest.

284And, man of the many white croziers, a century there I forgot;
How the fetlocks drip blood in the battle, when the fallen on fallen lie rolled;
How the falconer follows the falcon in the weeds of the heron's plot,
And the names of the demons whose hammers made armour for Conhor of old.

And, man of the many white croziers, a century there I forgot;
That the spear-shaft is made out of ashwood, the shield out of ozier and hide;
How the hammers spring on the anvil, on the spearhead's burning spot;
How the slow, blue-eyed oxen of Finn low sadly at evening tide.

But in dreams, mild man of the croziers, driving the dust with their throngs,
Moved round me, of seamen or landsmen, all who are winter tales;
Came by me the kings of the Red Branch, with roaring of laughter and songs,
285Or moved as they moved once, love-making or piercing the tempest with sails.

Came Blanid, Mac Nessa, tall Fergus who feastward of old time slunk,
Cook Barach, the traitor; and warward, the spittle on his beard never dry,
Dark Balor, as old as a forest, car borne, his mighty head sunk
Helpless, men lifting the lids of his weary and death-making eye.

And by me, in soft red raiment, the Fenians moved in loud streams,
And Grania, walking and smiling, sewed with her needle of bone,
So lived I and lived not, so wrought I and wrought not, with creatures of dreams,
In a long iron sleep, as a fish in the water goes dumb as a stone.

At times our slumber was lightened. When the sun was on silver or gold;
When brushed with the wings of the owls, in the dimness they love going by;
286When a glow-worm was green on a grass leaf, lured from his lair in the mould;
Half wakening, we lifted our eyelids, and gazed on the grass with a sigh.

So watched I when, man of the croziers, at the heel of a century fell,
Weak, in the midst of the meadow, from his miles in the midst of the air,
A starling like them that forgathered 'neath a moon waking white as a shell.
When the Fenians made foray at morning with Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair.

I awoke: the strange horse without summons out of the distance ran,
Thrusting his nose to my shoulder; he knew in his bosom deep
That once more moved in my bosom the ancient sadness of man,
And that I would leave the immortals, their dimness, their dews dropping sleep.

O, had you seen beautiful Niam grow white as the waters are white,
287Lord of the croziers, you even had lifted your hands and wept:
But, the bird in my fingers, I mounted, remembering alone that delight
Of twilight and slumber were gone, and that hoofs impatiently stept.

I cried, "O Niam! O white one! if only a twelve-houred day,
"I must gaze on the beard of Finn, and move where the old men and young
"In the Fenians' dwellings of wattle lean on the chessboards and play,
"Ah, sweet to me now were even bald Conan's slanderous tongue!

"Like me were some galley forsaken far off in Meridian isle.
"Remembering its long-oared companions, sails turning to thread-bare rags;
"No more to crawl on the seas with long oars mile after mile,
"But to be amid shooting of flies and flowering of rushes and flags."

288Their motionless eyeballs of spirits grown mild with mysterious thought
Watched her those seamless faces from the valley's glimmering girth;
As she murmured, "O wandering Usheen, the strength of the bell-branch is naught,
"For there moves alive in your fingers the fluttering sadness of earth.

"Then go through the lands in the saddle and see what the mortals do,
"And softly come to your Niam over the tops of the tide;
"But weep for your Niam, O Usheen, weep; for if only your shoe
"Brush lightly as haymouse earth's pebbles, you will come no more to my side.

"O flaming lion of the world, O when will you turn to your rest?"
"I saw from a distant saddle; from the earth she made her moan;
"I would die like a small withered leaf in the autumn, for breast unto breast
289"We shall mingle no more, nor our gazes empty their sweetness lone.

"In the isles of the farthest seas where only the spirits come.
"Were the winds less soft than the breath of a pigeon who sleeps on her nest,
"Nor lost in the star-fires and odours the sound of the sea's vague drum?
"O flaming lion of the world, O when will you turn to your rest?"

The wailing grew distant; I rode by the woods of the wrinkling bark,
Where ever is murmurous dropping, old silence and that one sound;
For no live creatures live there, no weasels move in the dark;
In a reverie forgetful of all things, over the bubbling ground.

And I rode by the plains of the sea's edge, where all is barren and gray,
Gray sands on the green of the grasses and over the dripping trees,
290Dripping and doubling landward, as though they would hasten away,
Like an army of old men lounging for rest from the moan of the seas.

And the winds made the sands on the sea's edge turning and turning go,
As my mind made the names of the Fenians. Far from the hazel and oak,
I rode away on the surges, where, high as the saddle bow,
Fled foam underneath me, and round me, a wandering and milky smoke.

Long fled the foam-flakes around me, the winds fled out of the vast,
Snatching the bird in secret; nor knew I, embosomed apart,
When they froze the cloth on my body like armour riveted fast,
For Remembrance, lifting her leanness, keened in the gates of my heart.

Till fattening the winds of the morning, an odour of new-mown hay
291Came, and my forehead fell low, and my tears like berries fell down;
Later a sound came, half lost in the sound of a shore far away,
From the great grass-barnacle calling, and later the shore-weeds brown.

If I were as I once was, the strong hoofs crushing the sand and the shells,
Coming out of the sea as the dawn comes, a chaunt of love on my lips,
Not coughing, my head on my knees, and praying, and wroth with the bells,
I would leave no saint's head on his body from Rachlin to Bera of ships.

Making way from the kindling surges, I rode on a bridle-path
Much wondering to see upon all hands, of wattles and woodwork made,
Your bell-mounted churches, and guardless the sacred cairn and the rath,
And a small and a feeble populace stooping with mattock and spade.

292Or weeding or ploughing with faces a-shining with much-toil wet;
While in this place and that place, with bodies unglorious, their chieftains stood,
Awaiting in patience the straw-death, croziered one, caught in your net:
Went the laughter of scorn from my mouth like the roaring of wind in a wood.

And because I went by them so huge and so speedy with eyes so bright,
Came after the hard gaze of youth, or an old man lifted his head:
And I rode and I rode, and I cried out, "The Fenians hunt wolves in the night,
So sleep thee by daytime." A voice cried, "The Fenians a long time are dead."

A whitebeard stood hushed on the pathway, the flesh of his face as dried grass,
And in folds round his eyes and his mouth, he sad as a child without milk;
And the dreams of the islands were gone, and I knew how men sorrow and pass,
293And their hound, and their horse, and their love, and their eyes that glimmer like silk.

And wrapping my face in my hair, I murmured, "In old age they ceased";
And my tears were larger than berries, and I murmured, "Where white clouds lie spread
"On Crevroe or broad Knockfefin, with many of old they feast
"On the floors of the gods." He cried, "No, the gods a long time are dead."

And lonely and longing for Niam, I shivered and turned me about,
The heart in me longing to leap like a grasshopper into her heart;
I turned and rode to the westward, and followed the sea's old shout
Till I saw where Maive lies sleeping till starlight and midnight part.

And there at the foot of the mountain, two carried a sack full of sand,
They bore it with staggering and sweating, but fell with their burden at length:
294Leaning down from the gem-studded saddle, I flung it five yards with my hand,
With a sob for men waxing so weakly, a sob for the Fenian's old strength.

The rest you have heard of, O croziered one; how, when divided the girth,
I fell on the path, and the horse went away like a summer fly;
And my years three hundred fell on me, and I rose, and walked on the earth,
A creeping old man, full of sleep, with the spittle on his beard never dry.

How the men of the sand-sack showed me a church with its belfry in air;
Sorry place, where for swing of the war-axe in my dim eyes the crozier gleams;
What place have Caolte and Conan, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair?
Speak, you too are old with your memories, an old man surrounded with dreams.

Fled foam beneath us, and around us, a drifting, milky smoke,
High as the saddle girth, hiding the tide from our sight;
And those that fled, and those that followed, broke from the foam-pale distance;
We saw the immortal desire of immortals in their faces, and sighed.

I thought about the chase with the Fenians, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair,
And Niam never sang a song, while over my fingertips
Slipped tears and brushed cold, misty hair,
Then warmth from sighs, and after, the trembling of lips.

Did we ride for days or just hours, wrapped in a grim peace,
278Before us lay a flat isle, draped with dripping hazel and oak?
And we stood at the edge of a sea we couldn't see; for whiter than freshly washed fleece
Fled foam beneath us, and a wandering, milky smoke surrounded us.

And we rode along the sea's edge; the barren, gray shore,
Gray sand on green grasses and dripping trees,
Dripping and leaning landward, as if they wanted to escape
Like an army of old men yearning for rest from the sounds of the sea.

But the trees grew taller and closer, massive with wrinkled bark;
Dropping, a murmurous dropping; old silence and that single sound;
For no living creatures lived there, no weasels stirred in the dark:
Long sighs rose in our spirits, while the ground bubbled beneath us.

279And the horse's ears sank deeper into the hollow night,
For, like the drifting of a sailor slowly drowning in the gleams of the world and sun,
Light faded from our hands and faces, from hazel and oak leaves,
And the stars vanished above us, making the whole world one.

Until the horse whinnied; for, entangled in hazel and oak stems,
A valley flowed down from his hooves, where, in the tall grass,
Under starlight and shadow lay a gigantic, slumbering folk,
Their bare, gleaming bodies sprawled out in the way.

Beside them were arrows and war axes, arrows and shields and blades;
And dew-blanched horns, where a three-year-old child
Could sleep on a rush bed, all intricately carved and adorned,
280More beautiful than anything a man could create from bronze, silver, or gold.

Each of those enormous white beings was bigger than eighty men;
Their ears were feathered, and their hands were claws like birds,
And as they shook the grasses and leaves of the mural glen,
The breath came from those bodies, long at peace, grown whiter than curds.

The woods above them were so vast that He who had stars for flocks
Could stroke the leaves with His fingers, without leaving His dew-laden skies;
They had been sleeping for so long that owls nested in their hair,
Filling the shadowy dimness with many generations of eyes.

And over the limbs and the valley, slow-moving owls wandered and came,
Now in a place of starlight, and now in a wide shadow;
And the leader of the huge white beings, his knees in the soft starlight,
281Rested in a shadowy spot: we pulled the reins beside him.

Golden were the nails of his bird-like claws, loosely resting on the dim ground;
In one was a softly shining branch, with more bells than sighs,
In the middle of an old man's bosom; owls fluttering and pacing around,
Sidled their bodies against him, filling the shade with their eyes.

And my gaze was filled with the sleepers; not since the world began,
In realms where beauty was abundant, nor in illusions cast by demons,
Have faces alive with such beauty been seen by the salt eye of man,
Yet weary with passions that faded when the seven seas were young.

And I looked at the bell-branch, the forerunner of sleep, long sung by the Sennachies.
I saw how those slumberers, grown weary, camping in deep grasses,
282Had laid hands on the bell-branch and swayed it, fed by an unearthly sleep.

Grabbing Niam’s horn, I sounded a lingering note;
A sound arose from those monstrous sleepers, like the stirring of flies.
He, shaking the folds of his lips and heaving the pillar of his throat,
Watched me with mournful wonder from the depths of his eyes.

I called out, "Come out of the shadow, king of the golden claws!
"And share about your noble household and the great deeds of your hands,
"So we can muse in the starlight and talk of the battles of old;
"Your questioner, Usheen, is worthy; he comes from the Fenian lands."

Half open were his eyes, holding me, dulled by the smoke of their dreams;
283His lips moved slowly in response, but no answer came from them;
Then he gently swayed the bell-branch, releasing a sound like faint streams
Softer than April snowflakes and piercing the marrow like flame.

Wrapped in the wave of that music, with fatigue deeper than earth,
The weight of my centuries filled me; and gone, like a stone beneath the sea,
Were the memories of all my sorrow and joy,
And a softness came from the starlight, filling me to the bone.

In the roots of the grasses, the sorrels, I laid myself down low;
And the pearl-pale Niam rested by me, her brow on my breast;
And the horse vanished in the distance, and years passed by;
Square leaves of ivy moved over us, binding us to our rest.

284And, man of the many white croziers, I forgot a century there;
How the fetlocks drip blood in battle when the fallen lie on each other;
How the falconer tracks the falcon in the reeds of the heron's plot,
And the names of the demons whose hammers forged armor for Conhor of old.

And, man of the many white croziers, I forgot a century there;
That the spear-shaft is made of ash wood, the shield of willow and hide;
How the hammers strike on the anvil, at the spearhead's fiery spot;
How the slow, blue-eyed oxen of Finn low sadly at evening.

But in dreams, gentle man of the croziers, driving the dust with their crowds,
Moved around me, of seamen or landsmen, all who tell winter tales;
The kings of the Red Branch came by, with laughter and songs,
285Or moved as they once did, making love or braving the storm with sails.

Blanid came, Mac Nessa, tall Fergus who once slinked toward feasts,
Cook Barach, the traitor; and battle-brave Balor, as old as a forest, car borne, his mighty head bowed
Helpless, as men lifted the lids of his weary and death-dealing eye.

And by me, in soft red garments, the Fenians flowed in loud streams,
And Grania, walking and smiling, sewed with her needle of bone,
So I lived and did not live, so I worked and did not work, with the creatures of dreams,
In a long iron sleep, like a fish in water, becoming dumb as a stone.

Sometimes our slumber was disturbed. When the sun shone silver or gold;
When brushed by the wings of owls, in the dimness they love passing through;
286When a glow-worm glowed green on a grass blade, drawn from its home in the mold;
Half waking, we lifted our eyelids and sighed at the grass.

So I watched when, man of the croziers, at the close of a century fell,
Weak, in the middle of the meadow, from his distance in the air,
A starling like those that gathered beneath a moon waking white as a shell.
When the Fenians raided at dawn with Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair.

I awoke: the strange horse raced toward me from the distance,
Thrusting his nose to my shoulder; he sensed deep within him
That the ancient sadness of man stirred again in my breast,
And that I would leave the immortals, their dimness, their dewy sleep.

O, if you had seen beautiful Niam turn pale as the waters turn white,
287Lord of the croziers, you would have lifted your hands and wept:
But, holding the bird in my grasp, I mounted, remembering only that joy
Of twilight and slumber was gone, and that hoofs impatiently trod.

I cried, "O Niam! O white one! if only a twelve-hour day,
"I must gaze on Finn's beard, and move among the old and young
"In the Fenians' wattle homes leaning over chessboards and playing;
"Ah, sweet to me now would even be bald Conan's slanderous tongue!

"Like me was some stranded galley far off on Meridian isle.
"Remembering its long-oared friends, sails turning into threadbare rags;
"No more to drift on the seas with long oars mile after mile,
"But to be amidst swarms of flies and flowering rushes and flags."

288Their motionless eyes, spirits softened by mysterious thought,
Watched her, those seamless faces from the valley's shimmering edge;
As she murmured, "O wandering Usheen, the power of the bell-branch is nothing,
"For alive in your fingers is the fluttering sadness of earth.

"Then ride through the lands and see what mortals do,
"And gently come to your Niam over the tides;
"But weep for your Niam, O Usheen, weep; for if your shoe
"Brushes lightly against the pebbles, you will never come back to my side.

"O fiery lion of the world, when will you find your rest?"
"I saw from a distant saddle; from the earth, she moaned;
"I would die like a small, withered leaf in autumn, for breast to breast
289"We will mingle no more, nor will our gazes lose their sweetness alone.

"In the isles of the farthest seas where only spirits roam.
"Were the winds less soft than a sleeping pigeon’s breath on her nest,
"Nor lost in the starlight and fragrances the sound of the sea's vague drum?
"O fiery lion of the world, when will you find your rest?"

The wailing grew distant; I rode through the woods of the wrinkled bark,
Where there is always murmurous dripping, old silence, and that one sound;
For no living creatures dwell there, no weasels stir in the dark;
In a reverie, forgetting everything, over the bubbling ground.

And I rode through the plains by the sea's edge, where everything is barren and gray,
Gray sand on the green of grasses and over the dripping trees,
290Dripping and leaning landward, as if they would rush away,
Like an army of old men resting from the moan of the seas.

And the winds swirled the sands at the sea's edge, tossing and turning,
As my thoughts carved the names of the Fenians. Far from the hazel and oak,
I rode away on the waves, where, high as the saddle bow,
Foam fled beneath me, and around me, a wandering, milky smoke.

Long the foam-flakes fled around me, the winds escaped out to the vast,
Snatching the bird in secret; nor did I know, embraced apart,
When they froze the cloth on my body like armor tightly fastened,
For Remembrance, lifting her thinness, mourned in the gates of my heart.

Until the winds of morning thickened, bringing the scent of freshly cut hay
291And my forehead fell low, and my tears fell like ripe berries;
Then a sound came, half lost in the noise of a distant shore,
From the great grass-barnacle calling, and later from the brown shore-weeds.

If I were as I once was, strong hooves crushing the sand and shells,
Emerging from the sea like dawn breaks, love song on my lips,
Not coughing, my head on my knees, praying, angry with the bells,
I would leave no saint's head attached to his body from Rachlin to Bera of ships.

Making my way from the rising waves, I rode along a bridle path,
Much surprised to see on all sides, of wattles and wooden work made,
Your bell-mounted churches, and guardless the sacred cairn and rath,
And a small, feeble populace bent with mattock and spade.

292Or weeding or plowing with faces shining from hard labor;
While in this place and that, with unremarkable bodies, their chieftains stood,
Patiently awaiting the straw-death, caught in your net:
Scornful laughter escaped my lips like wind roaring through a wood.

And because I passed them, so huge and fast with bright eyes,
Came the hard gaze of youth, or an old man lifted his head:
And I rode and I rode, crying, "The Fenians hunt wolves in the night,
So sleep by day." A voice shouted, "The Fenians have been dead a long time."

A white-bearded man stood silent on the path, his face like dried grass,
And the folds around his eyes and mouth, he looked sad like a hungry child;
And the dreams of the islands were gone, and I realized how men grieve and fade,
293With their hound, their horse, their love, and their eyes that gleam like silk.

And wrapping my face in my hair, I murmured, "In old age, they ceased";
And my tears were bigger than berries, and I murmured, "Where white clouds lie spread
"On Crevroe or broad Knockfefin, with many of old they feast
"On the floors of the gods." He cried, "No, the gods have been dead a long time."

And lonely and longing for Niam, I shivered and turned around,
The heart in me longing to leap like a grasshopper into her heart;
I turned and rode westward, following the old shout of the sea
Until I saw where Maive lies sleeping until starlight and midnight part.

And there at the foot of the mountain, two men carried a sack full of sand,
They bore it with staggering steps and sweat, but eventually fell under their burden:
294Leaning down from the gem-studded saddle, I tossed it five yards with my hand,
With a sob for men growing so weak, a sob for the old strength of the Fenians.

The rest you know, O croziered one; how, when the girth broke, I fell on the path,
And the horse flew away like a summer fly;
And three hundred years burdened me, and I rose, and walked on earth,
An aging man, full of sleep, with spittle on his beard never dry.

How the men with the sand-sack showed me a church with its belfry in the air;
A sorry place, where in the swing of the war-axe in my dim eyes the crozier gleams;
What place have Caolte and Conan, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair?
Speak, you too are old with your memories, an old man surrounded by dreams.

S. PATRIC

S. PATRICK

295Where the flesh of the footsole clingeth on the burning stones is their place;
Where the demons whip them with wires on the burning stones of wide hell,
Watching the blessed ones move far off, and the smile on God's face,
Between them a gateway of brass, and the howl of the angels who fell.

295Where the skin of the soles sticks to the hot stones is where they are;
Where the demons lash them with chains on the scorching rocks of hell,
Watching the blessed ones far away, along with the smile on God's face,
Between them a gate of brass, and the cries of the fallen angels.

USHEEN

Put the staff in my hands; for I go to the Fenians, O cleric, to chaunt
The war-songs that roused them of old; they will rise, making clouds with their breath
Innumerable, singing, exultant; the clay underneath them shall pant,
And demons be broken in pieces, and trampled beneath them in death.

And demons afraid in their darkness; deep horror of eyes and of wings,
Afraid their ears on the earth laid, shall listen and rise up and weep;
Hearing the shaking of shields and the quiver of stretched bowstrings,
296Hearing hell loud with a murmur, as shouting and mocking we sweep.

We will tear out the flaming stones, and batter the gateway of brass
And enter, and none sayeth "No" when there enters the strongly armed guest;
Make clean as a broom cleans, and march on as oxen move over young grass;
Then feast, making converse of wars, and of old wounds, and turn to our rest.

Put the staff in my hands; for I’m heading to the Fenians, oh cleric, to sing
The war songs that inspired them before; they'll rise, breathing clouds
Countless, singing, triumphant; the earth beneath them will heave,
And demons will be shattered and trampled beneath them in death.

And demons, terrified in their darkness; deep horror in their eyes and wings,
Terrified, with their ears to the ground, will listen and rise up and weep;
Hearing the clash of shields and the twang of drawn bowstrings,
296Listening to hell filled with a murmur, as we shout and mock as we advance.

We’ll rip out the flaming stones and smash down the brass gate
And enter, and none will say "No" when the heavily armed guest arrives;
Clean as a broom sweeps, and move on like oxen over fresh grass;
Then feast, talking of wars, and old wounds, and then rest.

S. PATRIC

St. Patrick

On the flaming stones, without refuge, the limbs of the Fenians are tost;
None war on the masters of Hell, who could break up the world in their rage;
But kneel and wear out the flags and pray for your soul that is lost
Through the demon love of its youth and its godless and passionate age.

On the hot stones, with no shelter, the bodies of the Fenians are tossed;
No one fights the masters of Hell, who could tear the world apart in their fury;
But kneel, wear out the flags, and pray for your lost soul
Through the demon love of its youth and its sinful, intense age.

USHEEN

Ah, me! to be shaken with coughing and broken with old age and pain,
297Without laughter, a show unto children, alone with remembrance and fear;
All emptied of purple hours as a beggar's cloak in the rain,
As a hay-cock out on the flood, or a wolf sucked under a weir.

It were sad to gaze on the blessed and no man I loved of old there;
I throw down the chain of small stones! when life in my body has ceased,
I will go to Caolte, and Conan, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair,
And dwell in the house of the Fenians, be they in flames or at feast.

Ah, me! to be rattling with coughs and broken down by old age and pain,
297Without laughter, a spectacle for kids, alone with memories and fear;
All drained of vibrant moments like a beggar's cloak in the rain,
Like a haystack floating in a flood, or a wolf pulled under a weir.

It would be sad to look at the blessed and not see anyone I once loved there;
I throw down the chain of small stones! when life in my body has ended,
I will go to Caolte, and Conan, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair,
And live in the house of the Fenians, whether they are in flames or at a feast.

299

GLOSSARY AND NOTES

The Pronunciation of the Irish Words.—When I wrote the greater number of these poems I had hardly considered the question seriously. I copied at times somebody's perhaps fanciful phonetic spelling, and at times the ancient spelling as I found it in some literal translation, pronouncing the words always as they were spelt. I do not suppose I would have defended this system at any time, but I do not yet know what system to adopt. The modern pronunciation, which is usually followed by those who spell the words phonetically, is certainly unlike the pronunciation of the time when classical Irish literature was written, and, so far as I know, no Irish scholar who writes in English or French has made that minute examination of the way the names come into the rhythms and measures of the old poems which can alone discover the old pronunciation. A French Celtic scholar gave me the pronunciation of a few names, and told me that Mr. Whitley Stokes had written something about the subject in German, but I am ignorant of German. If I ever learn the old pronunciation, I will revise all these poems, but at present I can only affirm that I have not treated my Irish names as badly as the mediæval writers of the stories of King Arthur treated their Welsh names.

The Pronunciation of the Irish Words.—When I wrote most of these poems, I hadn't really thought deeply about the pronunciation. Sometimes, I copied someone’s maybe imaginative phonetic spelling, and other times I used the traditional spelling as I found in some literal translations, pronouncing the words exactly as they were spelled. I doubt I would have defended this approach at any point, but I still don't know what method to use. The modern pronunciation, which is usually followed by those who spell the words phonetically, is definitely different from how people pronounced the language back when classical Irish literature was created. As far as I know, no Irish scholar who writes in English or French has thoroughly examined how the names fit into the rhythms and patterns of the old poems, which is necessary to uncover the original pronunciation. A French Celtic scholar told me how to pronounce a few names and mentioned that Mr. Whitley Stokes had discussed this topic in German, but I don’t know German. If I ever figure out the original pronunciation, I will revise all these poems, but for now, I can only say that I haven’t treated my Irish names as poorly as the medieval writers of King Arthur's stories treated their Welsh names.

Mythological Gods and Heroes.—I refer the reader for such names as Balor and Finn and Usheen to Lady Gregory's "Cuchulain of Muirthemne" and to her "Gods and Fighting Men."

Mythological Gods and Heroes.—I direct the reader to Lady Gregory's "Cuchulain of Muirthemne" and her "Gods and Fighting Men" for names like Balor, Finn, and Usheen.

The Ballad of Father Gilligan.—A tradition among the people of Castleisland, Kerry.

300

The Ballad of Father O'Hart.—This ballad is founded on the story of a certain Father O'Hart, priest of Coloony, Sligo, in the last century, as told by the present priest of Coloony in his History of Ballisodare and Kilvarnet. The robbery of the lands of Father O'Hart was a kind of robbery which occurred but rarely during the penal laws. Catholics, forbidden to own landed property, evaded the law by giving a Protestant nominal possession of their estates. There are instances on record in which poor men were nominal owners of immense estates.

The Ballad of Father O'Hart.—This ballad is based on the story of Father O'Hart, a priest from Coloony, Sligo, in the last century, as recounted by the current priest of Coloony in his History of Ballisodare and Kilvarnet. The theft of Father O'Hart's land was a type of robbery that happened rarely during the penal laws. Catholics, who were not allowed to own property, got around the law by having a Protestant hold nominal ownership of their estates. There are documented cases where poor individuals were listed as the nominal owners of vast estates.

The Ballad of the Foxhunter.—Founded on an incident, probably itself a Tipperary tradition, in Kickham's Knockagow.

The Ballad of the Foxhunter.—Based on an event, likely a Tipperary tradition, in Kickham's Knockagow.

Bell-branch.—A legendary branch whose shaking casts all men into a sleep.

Bell-branch.—A mythical branch that, when shaken, puts everyone to sleep.

The Countess Cathleen.—I found the story of the Countess Cathleen in what professed to be a collection of Irish folk-lore in an Irish newspaper some years ago. I wrote to the compiler, asking about its source, but got no answer, but have since heard that it was translated from Les Matinées de Timothè Trimm a good many years ago, and has been drifting about the Irish press ever since. Léo Lespès gives it as an Irish story, and though the editor of Folklore has kindly advertised for information, the only Christian variant I know of is a Donegal tale, given by Mr. Larminie in his West Irish Folk Tales and Romances, of a woman who goes to hell for ten years to save her husband, and stays there another ten, having been granted permission to carry away as many souls as could cling to her skirt. Léo Lespès may have added a few details, but I have no doubt of the essential antiquity of what seems to me the most impressive form of one of the supreme parables of the world. The parable came to the Greeks in the sacrifice of Alcestis, but her sacrifice was less overwhelming, less apparently irremediable. Léo Lespès tells the story as follows:301—

The Countess Cathleen.—I found the story of the Countess Cathleen in what claimed to be a collection of Irish folklore in an Irish newspaper a few years back. I wrote to the compiler, asking about its origin, but received no reply. I've since learned that it was translated from Les Matinées de Timothè Trimm many years ago and has been circulating in the Irish press ever since. Léo Lespès presents it as an Irish story, and even though the editor of Folklore has kindly asked for more information, the only Christian version I know of is a Donegal tale shared by Mr. Larminie in his West Irish Folk Tales and Romances. It tells of a woman who goes to hell for ten years to save her husband and stays there another ten, having been allowed to take as many souls as could cling to her skirt. Léo Lespès may have added some details, but I believe the fundamental ancient nature of what seems to be one of the most powerful forms of one of the world's greatest parables is intact. The parable reached the Greeks through the sacrifice of Alcestis, but her sacrifice was less intense, less apparently hopeless. Léo Lespès tells the story as follows:301—

Ce que je vais vous dire est un récit du carême Irlandais. Le boiteux, l'aveugle, le paralytique des rues de Dublin ou de Limerick, vous le diraient mieux que moi, cher lecteur, si vous alliez le leur demander, un sixpense d'argent à la main.—Il n'est pas une jeune fille catholique à laquelle on ne l'ait appris pendant les jours de préparation à la communion sainte, pas un berger des bords de la Blackwater qui ne le puisse redire à la veillée.
What I'm about to tell you is a story from the Irish Lent. The crippled, the blind, and the paralyzed in the streets of Dublin or Limerick could tell it better than me, dear reader, if you asked them while putting a sixpence in their hands. There isn't a young Catholic girl who hasn't been taught it during the preparation days for Holy Communion, nor is there a shepherd by the banks of the Blackwater who can't repeat it at night.

Il y a bien longtemps qu'il apparut tout-à-coup dans la vielle Irlande deux marchands inconnus dont personne n'avait ouï parler, et qui parlaient néanmoins avec la plus grande perfection la langue du pays. Leurs cheveux étaient noirs et ferrés avec de l'or et leurs robes d'une grande magnificence.
A long time ago, two unknown merchants suddenly appeared in old Ireland, people no one had heard of before, yet they spoke the local language perfectly. Their hair was black and adorned with gold, and their robes were magnificent.

Tous deux semblaient avoir le même âge; ils paraissaient être des hommes de cinquante ans, car leur barbe grisonnait un peu.
Both seemed to be of the same age; they looked like men around fifty, as their beards were a bit gray.

Or, à cette époque, comme aujourd'hui, l'Irlande était pauvre, car le soleil avait été rare, et des récoltes presque nulles. Les indigents ne savaient à quel sainte se vouer, et la misère devenait de plus en plus terrible.
At that time, just like today, Ireland was poor, as the sun had been scarce and the harvests nearly non-existent. The needy didn't know which saint to turn to, and the suffering was becoming more unbearable by the day.

Dans l'hôtellerie où descendirent les marchands fastueux on chercha à pénétrer leurs desseins: mais ce fut en vain, ils demeurèrent silencieux et discrets.
In the hotel where the rich merchants stayed, people tried to figure out their intentions: but it was in vain; they remained silent and discreet.

Et pendant qu'ils demeurèrent dans l'hôtellerie, ils ne cessèrent de compter et de recompter des sacs de pièces d'or, dont la vive clarté s'apercevait à travers les vitres du logis.
While they stayed at the hotel, they never stopped counting and recounting bags of gold coins, which shimmered brightly through the windows.

Gentlemen, leur dit l'hôtesse un jour, d'où vient que vous êtes si opulents, et que, venus pour secourir la misère publique, vous ne fassiez pas de bonnes œuvres?
“Gentlemen,” the hostess said to them one day, “what is the reason you are so wealthy, and despite coming to help the public suffering, are not doing any good deeds?”

—Belle hôtesse, répondit l'un d'eux, nous n'avons pas voulu aller au-devant d'infortunes honorables, dans la crainte d'être trompés par des misères fictives: que la douleur frappe à la porte, nous ouvrirons.
“Beautiful hostess,” one of them replied, “we didn’t want to seek out false misfortunes, fearing we might be deceived by fake hardships: let the pain knock at the door, and we will open it.”

Le lendemain, quand on sut qu'il existait deux opulents étrangers prêts à prodiguer l'or, la foule assiégea leur logis; mais302 les figures des gens qui en sortaient étaient bien diverses. Les uns avaient la fierté dans le regard, les autres portaient la honte au front. Les deux trafiquants achetaient des âmes pour le démon. L'âme d'un vieillard valait vingt pièces d'or, pas un penny de plus; car Satan avait eu le temps d'y former hypothèque. L'âme d'une épose en valait cinquante quand elle était jolie, ou cent quand elle était laide. L'âme d'une jeune fille se payait des prix fous: les fleurs les plus belles et les plus pures sont les plus chères.
The next day, when people learned that there were two wealthy foreigners ready to give away gold, a crowd besieged their place; but302 the expressions of those who came out were very different. Some had pride in their eyes, while others wore shame on their foreheads. The two merchants were buying souls for the devil. An old man’s soul was worth twenty pieces of gold, not a penny more; because Satan had already put a lien on it. A young wife’s soul was worth fifty if she was pretty, or a hundred if she was plain. A young girl’s soul fetched outrageous prices: the most beautiful and purest flowers are the most expensive.

Pendant ce temps, il existait dans la ville un ange de beauté, la comtesse Ketty O'Connor. Elle était l'idole du peuple, et la providence des indigents. Dès qu'elle eut appris que des mécréants profitaient de la misère publique pour dérober des cœurs à Dieu, elle fit appeler son majordome.
Meanwhile, in the city, there was an angel of beauty, Countess Ketty O'Connor. She was the idol of the people and the providence of the less fortunate. As soon as she learned that infidels were taking advantage of public suffering to lure souls away from God, she called for her steward.

—Master Patrick, lui dit elle, combien ai-je de pièces d'or dans mon coffre?
“Master Patrick,” she said to him, “how many gold coins do I have in my chest?”

—Cent mille.
“One hundred thousand.”

—Combien de bijoux?
“How many jewels?”

—Peur autant d'argent.
“About as much as the money.”

—Combien de châteux, de bois et de terres?
“How many castles, woods, and lands?”

—Pour le double de ces sommes.
“Double those amounts.”

—Eh bien! Patrick, vendez tout ce qui n'est pas or et apportez-m'en le montant. Je ne veux garder à moi que ce castel et le champ qui l'entoure.
“Well then! Patrick, sell everything that's not gold and bring me the total. I only want to keep this castle and the land around it.”

Deux jours après, les ordres de la pieuse Ketty étaient exécutés et le trésor était distribué aux pauvres au fur et à mesure de leurs besoins.
Two days later, the orders of the pious Ketty were carried out and the treasure was distributed to the poor as needed.

Ceci ne faisait pas le compte, dit la tradition, des commis-voyageurs du malin esprit, qui ne trouvaient plus d'âmes à acheter.
This, according to tradition, did not match the accounts of the traveling agents of the evil spirit, who found no more souls to buy.

Aidés par un valet infâme, ils pénétrèrent dans la retraite de la noble dame et lui dérobèrent le reste de son trésor ... en vain lutta-t-elle de toutes ses forces pour sauver le contenu de son coffre, les larrons diaboliques furent les plus forts. Si Ketty avait eu les moyens de faire un signe de croix, ajoute la légende303 Irlandaise, elle les eût mis en fuite, mais ses mains étaient captives—Le larcin fut effectué. Alors les pauvres sollicitèrent en vain près de Ketty dépouillée, elle ne pouvait plus secourir leur misère;—elle les abandonnait à la tentation. Pourtant il n'y avait plus que huit jours à passer pour que les grains et lea fourrages arrivassent en abondance des pays d'Orient. Mais, huit jours, c'était un siècle: huit jours nécessitaient une somme immense pour subvenir aux exigences de la disette, et les pauvres allaient ou expirer dans les angousses de la faim, ou, reniant les saintes maximes de l'Evangile, vendre à vil prix leur âme, le plus beau présent de la munificence du Seigneur tout-puissant.
With the help of a notorious servant, they broke into the noble lady's retreat and stole the rest of her treasure... despite her struggling with all her might to protect the contents of her chest, the wicked thieves were too powerful. If Ketty had been able to make the sign of the cross, Irish legend adds303, she could have scared them off, but her hands were bound—The theft was carried out. Then the poor begged in vain near the stripped Ketty, who could no longer help their suffering; she left them to temptation. Yet only eight days remained until grain and fodder would arrive abundantly from the Eastern lands. But eight days felt like a century: those eight days required a huge sum to meet the needs of the famine, and the poor were either going to perish from hunger or, renouncing the holy teachings of the Gospel, sell their souls for a pittance—the most precious gift from the Almighty Lord's generosity.

Et Ketty n'avait plus une obole, car elle avait abandonné son châteux aux malheureux.
And Ketty was left with nothing, as she had given away her castle to the needy.

Elle passa douze heures dans les larmes et le deuil, arrachant ses cheveux couleur de soleil et meurtrissant son sein couleur du lis: puis elle se leva résolue, animée par un vif sentiment de désespoir.
She spent twelve hours in tears and mourning, pulling out her blonde hair and striking her chest. Then she got up, determined, filled with a strong sense of despair.

Elle se rendit chez les marchands d'âmes.
She went to the soul merchants.

—Que voulez-vous? dirent ils.
“What do you want?” they said.

—Vous achetez des âmes?
“You buy souls?”

—Oui, un peu malgré vous, n'est ce pas, sainte aux yeux de saphir?
“Yes, a little against your will, isn't it, saint with sapphire eyes?”

—Aujourd'hui je viens vous proposer un marché, reprit elle.
“Today, I come to offer you a deal,” she continued.

—Lequel?
“What’s the deal?”

—J'ai une âme a vendre; mais elle est chère.
“I have a soul to sell; but it's expensive.”

—Qu'importe si elle est précieuse? l'âme, comme le diamant, s'apprécie à sa blancheur.
“Does it matter if it's precious? The soul, like a diamond, is valued for its purity.”

—C'est la mienne, dit Ketty.
“It's mine,” said Ketty.

Les deux envoyés de Satan tressaillirent. Leurs griffes s'allongèrent sous leurs gants de cuir; leurs yeux gris étincelèrent—l'âme, pure, immaculée, virginale de Ketty!... c'était une acquisition inappréciable.
The two agents of Satan trembled. Their claws lengthened under their leather gloves; their gray eyes sparkled—Ketty's soul, pure, immaculate, virgin!... it was an invaluable acquisition.

—Gentille dame, combien voulez-vous?
“Kind lady, how much do you want?”
304
304

—Cent cinquante mille écus d'or.
“One hundred fifty thousand pieces of gold.”

—C'est fait, dirent les marchands: et ils tendirent à Ketty un parchemin cacheté de noir, qu'elle signa en frissonnant.
“It's done,” said the merchants: and they handed Ketty a black-sealed parchment, which she signed while trembling.

La somme lui fut comptée.
The amount was counted out to her.

Des qu'elle fut rentrée, elle dit au majordome:
As soon as she returned, she said to her steward:

—Tenez, distribuez ceci. Avec la somme que je vous donne les pauvres attendront la huitaine nécessaire et pas une de leurs âmes ne sera livrée au démon.
“Here, distribute this. With the amount I'm giving you, the poor will wait the necessary week, and not a single one of their souls will be given to the devil.”

Puis elle s'enferma et recommanda qu'on ne vint pas la déranger.
Then she locked herself away and asked not to be disturbed.

Trois jours se passèrent; elle n'appela pas; elle ne sortit pas.
Three days passed; she did not call out; she did not leave.

Quand on ouvrit sa porte, on la trouva raide et froide: elle était morte de douleur.
When her door was opened, she was found stiff and cold: she had died of grief.

Mais la vente de cette âme si adorable dans sa charité fut déclarée nulle par le Seigneur: car elle avait sauvé ses concitoyens de la morte éternelle.
But the sale of this soul, so admirable in her charity, was declared void by the Lord: for she had saved her fellow citizens from eternal death.

Après la huitaine, des vaisseaux nombreux amenèrent à l'Irlande affamée d'immenses provisions de grains.
After a week, many ships brought enormous quantities of grain to hungry Ireland.

La famine n'était plus possible. Quant aux marchands, ils disparurent de leur hôtellerie, sans qu'on sût jamais ce qu'ils étaient devenus.
The famine was no longer possible. As for the merchants, they vanished from their hotel, never to be seen again.

Toutefois, les pêcheurs de la Blackwater prétendent qu'ils sont enchainés dans une prison souterraine par ordre de Lucifer jusqu'au moment où ils pourront livrer l'âme de Ketty qui leur a échappé. Je vous dis la légende telle que je la sais.
However, the fishermen of the Blackwater claim they are chained in an underground prison on Lucifer's orders until they can deliver the soul of Ketty that slipped from them. I tell you the legend as I know it.

—Mais les pauvres l'ont raconté d'âge en âge et les enfants de Cork et de Dublin chantent encore la ballade dont voici les derniers couplets:—
—But the poor have told it from generation to generation, and kids from Cork and Dublin still sing the ballad whose last verses are as follows:—

Pour sauver les pauvres qu'elle aime
Ketty donna
Son esprit, sa croyance même:
305Satan paya
Cette âme au dévoûment sublime,
En écus d'or,
Disons pour racheter son crime,
Confiteor.

Mais l'ange qui se fit coupable
Par charité
Au séjour d'amour ineffable
Est remonté.
Satan vaincu n'eut pas de prise
Sur ce cœur d'or;
Chantons sous la nef de l'église,
Confiteor.
To save the poor that she loves
Ketty gave
Her spirit, her very faith:
305Satan paid
For this soul of sublime devotion,
In pieces of gold,
Let’s say to redeem his crime,
Confiteor.

But the angel who was guilty
Out of charity
To the kingdom of ineffable love
Has ascended.
Defeated Satan has no hold
On this golden heart;
Let’s sing under the nave of the church,
Confiteor.

N'est ce pas que ce récit, né de l'imagination des poètes catholiques de la verte Erin, est une véritable récit de carême?
Isn't it true that this story, born from the imagination of the Catholic poets of green Erin, is a true tale of Lent?

The Countess Cathleen was acted in Dublin in 1899, with Mr. Marcus St. John and Mr. Trevor Lowe as the First and Second Demon, Mr. Valentine Grace as Shemus Rua, Master Charles Sefton as Teig, Madame San Carola as Mary, Miss Florence Farr as Aleel, Miss Anna Mather as Oona, Mr. Charles Holmes as the Herdsman, Mr. Jack Wilcox as the Gardener, Mr. Walford as a Peasant, Miss Dorothy Paget as a Spirit, Miss M. Kelly as a Peasant Woman, Mr. T.E. Wilkinson as a Servant, and Miss May Whitty as The Countess Kathleen. They had to face a very vehement opposition stirred up by a politician and a newspaper, the one accusing me in a pamphlet, the other in long articles day after day, of blasphemy because of the language of the demons or of Shemus Rua, and because I made a woman sell her soul and yet escape damnation, and of a lack of patriotism because I made Irish men and women, who, it seems, never did such a thing, sell theirs. The politician or the newspaper persuaded some forty Catholic students to sign a protest against the play, and a Cardinal, who306 avowed that he had not read it, to make another, and both politician and newspaper made such obvious appeals to the audience to break the peace, that a score or so of police were sent to the theatre to see that they did not. I had, however, no reason to regret the result, for the stalls, containing almost all that was distinguished in Dublin, and a gallery of artisans alike insisted on the freedom of literature.

The Countess Cathleen was performed in Dublin in 1899, featuring Mr. Marcus St. John and Mr. Trevor Lowe as the First and Second Demon, Mr. Valentine Grace as Shemus Rua, Master Charles Sefton as Teig, Madame San Carola as Mary, Miss Florence Farr as Aleel, Miss Anna Mather as Oona, Mr. Charles Holmes as the Herdsman, Mr. Jack Wilcox as the Gardener, Mr. Walford as a Peasant, Miss Dorothy Paget as a Spirit, Miss M. Kelly as a Peasant Woman, Mr. T.E. Wilkinson as a Servant, and Miss May Whitty as The Countess Kathleen. They faced strong opposition stirred up by a politician and a newspaper, with one accusing me in a pamphlet and the other publishing long articles day after day, claiming blasphemy because of the demons’ dialogue or Shemus Rua's words, and criticizing me for making a woman sell her soul yet escape damnation. They also charged me with a lack of patriotism for portraying Irish men and women, who supposedly never did such things, selling their souls. The politician or newspaper convinced around forty Catholic students to sign a protest against the play, and a Cardinal, who stated he hadn't read it, to issue another protest. Both the politician and the newspaper made clear appeals to the audience to disrupt the peace, prompting the dispatch of about twenty police officers to the theater to maintain order. However, I had no reason to regret the outcome, as the audience, which included many distinguished figures from Dublin and a group of artisans, upheld the freedom of literature.

After the performance in 1899 I added the love scene between Aleel and the Countess, and in this new form the play was revived in New York by Miss Wycherley as well as being played a good deal in England and America by amateurs. Now at last I have made a complete revision to make it suitable for performance at the Abbey Theatre. The first two scenes are almost wholly new, and throughout the play I have added or left out such passages as a stage experience of some years showed me encumbered the action; the play in its first form having been written before I knew anything of the theatre. I have left the old end, however, in the version printed in the body of this book, because the change for dramatic purposes has been made for no better reason than that audiences—even at the Abbey Theatre—are almost ignorant of Irish mythology—or because a shallow stage made the elaborate vision of armed angels upon a mountain-side impossible. The new end is particularly suited to the Abbey stage, where the stage platform can be brought out in front of the proscenium and have a flight of steps at one side up which the Angel comes, crossing towards the back of the stage at the opposite side. The principal lighting is from two arc lights in the balcony which throw their lights into the faces of the players, making footlights unnecessary. The room at Shemus Rua's house is suggested by a great grey curtain—a colour which becomes full of rich tints under the stream of light from the arcs. The two or more arches in the third scene permit the use of a gauze. The short front scene before the last is just long enough when played with incidental music to allow the scene set behind it to be changed. The play307 when played without interval in this way lasts a little over an hour.

After the performance in 1899, I added the love scene between Aleel and the Countess. In this new version, the play was revived in New York by Miss Wycherley and performed quite a bit in England and America by amateur actors. Now, I’ve done a complete revision to make it suitable for the Abbey Theatre. The first two scenes are almost entirely new, and throughout the play, I’ve added or removed parts that my experience in theater has shown me clutter the action; the play in its original form was written before I knew much about theater. I’ve kept the old ending in the version printed in this book because the change for dramatic purposes was made for no better reason than that audiences—even at the Abbey Theatre—are mostly unfamiliar with Irish mythology, or because a small stage made the elaborate vision of armed angels on a mountain impossible. The new ending fits particularly well with the Abbey stage, where the platform can be brought forward in front of the proscenium and have a set of steps on one side for the Angel to come down, crossing towards the back of the stage on the opposite side. The main lighting comes from two arc lights in the balcony, which illuminate the actors' faces, making footlights unnecessary. The room at Shemus Rua’s house is suggested by a large grey curtain—a color that takes on rich hues under the light from the arcs. The two or more arches in the third scene allow for the use of a gauze. The short front scene before the last is just long enough, when played with incidental music, to allow for the scene behind it to be changed. The play307 lasts a little over an hour when performed without an interval in this way.

The play was performed at the Abbey Theatre for the first time on December 14, 1911, Miss Maire O'Neill taking the part of the Countess, and the last scene from the going out of the Merchants was as follows:—

The play was performed at the Abbey Theatre for the first time on December 14, 1911, with Miss Maire O'Neill playing the role of the Countess, and the final scene before the Merchants left was as follows:—

(MERCHANTS rush out. ALEEL crawls into the middle of the room; the twilight has fallen and gradually darkens as the scene goes on.)

(Vendors hurry out. ALEEL crawls into the middle of the room; dusk has arrived and slowly gets darker as the scene continues.)

ALEEL

They're rising up—they're rising through the earth,
Fat Asmodel and giddy Belial,
And all the fiends. Now they leap in the air.
But why does Hell's gate creak so? Round and round.
Hither and hither, to and fro they're running.

They're coming up—they're coming up from the ground,
Big Asmodel and dizzy Belial,
And all the demons. Now they're jumping in the air.
But why does Hell's gate squeak like that? Around and around.
Here and there, back and forth they're running.

(He moves about as though the air was full of spirits. OONA enters.)

(He moves around as if the air is filled with spirits. Oona enters.)

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm.

Crouch down, old heron, away from the raging storm.

OONA

Oona

Where is the Countess Cathleen? All this day
Her eyes were full of tears, and when for a moment
Her hand was laid upon my hand, it trembled.
And now I do not know where she is gone.

Where is Countess Cathleen? All day long
Her eyes were filled with tears, and when for a moment
She placed her hand on mine, it trembled.
And now I don’t know where she has gone.

ALEEL

Cathleen has chosen other friends than us,
And they are rising through the hollow world.
Demons are out, old heron.

Cathleen has picked other friends instead of us,
And they're climbing up through the empty world.
Demons are out, old heron.

OONA

308God guard her soul.

308God protect her soul.

ALEEL

She's bartered it away this very hour,
As though we two were never in the world.

She's traded it away just now,
As if we were never part of this world.

(He kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words. The PEASANTS return. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her upon the ground before OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if dead.)

(He kneels beside her but doesn't seem to hear what she's saying. The FARMERS come back. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her on the ground in front of Oona and ALEEL. She appears to be lying there lifeless.)

OONA

Oona

O, that so many pitchers of rough clay
Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!

Oh, that so many pitchers made of rough clay
Should succeed while the porcelain shatters in two!

(She kisses the hands of CATHLEEN.)

A PEASANT

A farmer

We were under the tree where the path turns
When she grew pale as death and fainted away.

We were under the tree where the path bends
When she turned as pale as death and passed out.

CATHLEEN

O, hold me, and hold me tightly, for the storm
Is dragging me away.

(OONA takes her in her arms. A woman begins to wail.)

(Oona holds her close. A lady begins to cry out.)

PEASANTS

Farming community

Hush!

Be quiet!

PEASANTS

Farmers

Hush!

Be quiet!

PEASANT WOMEN

Rural women

309Hush!

309Be quiet!

OTHER PEASANT WOMEN

OTHER FARMER WOMEN

Hush!

Quiet!

CATHLEEN (half rising)

CATHLEEN (partially standing)

Lay all the bags of money in a heap,
And when I am gone, old Oona, share them out
To every man and woman: judge, and give
According to their needs.

Lay all the bags of money in a pile,
And when I’m gone, old Oona, distribute them
To every man and woman: judge, and give
Based on their needs.

A PEASANT WOMAN

A FARMER WOMAN

And will she give
Enough to keep my children through the dearth?

And will she help
Enough to support my children during the scarcity?

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

ANOTHER RURAL WOMAN

O, Queen of Heaven, and all you blessed saints,
Let us and ours be lost, so she be shriven.

O, Queen of Heaven, and all you blessed saints,
Let us and our loved ones be lost, so she can be forgiven.

CATHLEEN

Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;
I gaze upon them as the swallow gazes
Upon the nest under the eave, before
She wander the loud waters. Do not weep
Too great a while, for there is many a candle
On the High Altar though one fall. Aleel,
Who sang about the dancers of the woods,
That know not the hard burden of the world,
Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell!
And farewell, Oona, you who played with me
And bore me in your arms about the house
When I was but a child—and therefore happy,
Therefore happy even like those that dance.
The storm is in my hair and I must go.

Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;
I look at them like a swallow looks
At the nest under the eave, before
She wanders the noisy waters. Don't cry
For too long, because there are many candles
On the High Altar even if one goes out. Aleel,
Who sang about the dancers in the woods,
Who don’t know the heavy weight of the world,
Having only breath in their kind bodies, goodbye!
And goodbye, Oona, you who played with me
And carried me in your arms around the house
When I was just a child—and so happy,
So happy even like those who dance.
The storm is in my hair and I have to go.

(She dies.)

She passes away.

310

OONA

Bring me the looking-glass.

Bring me the mirror.

(A woman brings it to her out of inner room. OONA holds glass over the lips of CATHLEEN. All is silent for a moment, then she speaks in a half-scream.)

(A lady brings it to her from the inner room. OONA holds the glass to the lips of CATHLEEN. Everything is quiet for a moment, then she shouts.)

O, she is dead!

Oh, she’s dead!

A PEASANT

A farmer

She was the great white lily of the world.

She was the beautiful white lily of the world.

A PEASANT

A farmer

She was more beautiful than the pale stars.

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN

AN ELDERLY FARMER WOMAN

The little plant I loved is broken in two.

The little plant I loved is broken in half.

(ALEEL takes looking-glass from OONA and flings it upon floor, so that it is broken in many pieces.)

(ALEEL takes the mirror from OONA and throws it on the floor, shattering it into many pieces.)

ALEEL

I shatter you in fragments, for the face
That brimmed you up with beauty is no more;
And die, dull heart, for you that were a mirror
Are but a ball of passionate dust again!
And level earth and plumy sea, rise up!
And haughty sky, fall down!

I break you into pieces, because the face
That filled you with beauty is gone;
And die, lifeless heart, for you that once reflected
Are just a ball of passionate dust again!
And flat earth and feathery sea, rise up!
And proud sky, come crashing down!

A PEASANT WOMAN

A farmer woman

Pull him upon his knees,
His curses will pluck lightning on our heads.

Get him down on his knees,
His curses will bring lightning down on us.

ALEEL

311Angels and devils clash in the middle air,
And brazen swords clang upon brazen helms.
Look, look, a spear has gone through Belial's eye!

311Angels and demons are fighting in the sky,
And loud swords clash against shiny helmets.
Look, look, a spear has pierced Belial's eye!

(A winged ANGEL, carrying a torch and a sword, enters from the R. with eyes fixed upon some distant thing. The ANGEL is about to pass out to the L. when ALEEL speaks. The ANGEL stops a moment and turns.)

(A winged ANGEL, holding a torch and a sword, enters from the R. with eyes focused on something far away. The ANGEL is about to exit to the L. when ALEEL speaks. The ANGEL pauses briefly and turns.)

Look no more on the half-closed gates of Hell,
But speak to me whose mind is smitten of God,
That it may be no more with mortal things:
And tell of her who lies there.

Look no more at the half-closed gates of Hell,
But talk to me, whose mind is touched by God,
So that it may no longer be with earthly things:
And tell of her who is there.

(The ANGEL turns again and is about to go, but is seized by ALEEL.)

(The ANGEL turns again and is about to leave, but is stopped by ALEEL.)

Till you speak
You shall not drift into eternity.

Until you talk
You will not wander into eternity.

THE ANGEL

The Angel

The light beats down; the gates of pearl are wide.
And she is passing to the floor of peace,
And Mary of the seven times wounded heart
Has kissed her lips, and the long blessed hair
Has fallen on her face; the Light of Lights
Looks always on the motive, not the deed,
The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone.

The light shines bright; the gates of pearl are open wide.
And she is stepping onto the floor of peace,
And Mary, who has a heart wounded seven times,
Has kissed her lips, and the long blessed hair
Has fallen over her face; the Light of Lights
Always focuses on the intention, not just the act,
The Shadow of Shadows concerns only the act.

(ALEEL releases the ANGEL and kneels.)

(ALEEL lets go of the ANGEL and kneels.)

OONA

Tell them to walk upon the floor of peace,
That I would die and go to her I love;
The years like great black oxen tread the world,
And God the herdsman goads them on behind,
And I am broken by their passing feet.

Tell them to walk on the floor of peace,
That I would die and go to the one I love;
The years like huge black oxen trample the earth,
And God the herdsman pushes them on from behind,
And I'm crushed by their passing feet.

312

Down by the Salley Gardens.—An extension of three lines sung to me by an old woman at Ballisodare.

Down by the Salley Gardens.—An extra three lines sung to me by an old woman in Ballisodare.

Findrinny (Findruine).—A kind of white bronze.

Findrinny (Findruine).—A type of white bronze.

Finvarra (Finbar).—The king of the faeries of Connaught.

Finvarra (Finbar).—The king of the fairies of Connaught.

Hell.—In the older Irish books Hell is always cold, and it may be because the Fomoroh, or evil powers, ruled over the north and the winter. Christianity adopted as far as possible the Pagan symbolism in Ireland as elsewhere, and Irish poets, when they spoke of "the cold flagstone of Hell," may have repeated Pagan symbolism. The folk-tales, and Keating in his description of Hell, make use, however, of the ordinary symbolism of fire.

Hell.—In older Irish texts, Hell is always depicted as cold, possibly because the Fomoroh, or evil forces, were associated with the north and winter. Christianity tried to incorporate as much as possible of the Pagan symbolism found in Ireland, just like it did in other places, and Irish poets, when they referred to "the cold flagstone of Hell," might have echoed Pagan imagery. However, folk tales and Keating in his depiction of Hell commonly use the typical symbolism of fire.

The Lamentation of the Pensioner.—This poem is little more than a translation into verse of the very words of an old Wicklow peasant. Fret means doom or destiny.

The Lamentation of the Pensioner.—This poem is basically a verse translation of the exact words of an old Wicklow peasant. Fret means fate or destiny.

The Land of Heart's Desire.—This little play was produced at the Avenue Theatre in the spring of 1894, with the following cast:—Maurteen Bruin, Mr. James Welch; Shawn Bruin, Mr. A.E.W. Mason; Father Hart, Mr. G.R. Foss; Bridget Bruin, Miss Charlotte Morland; Maire Bruin, Miss Winifred Fraser; A Faery Child, Miss Dorothy Paget. It ran for a little over six weeks. It was revived in America in 1901, when it was taken on tour by Mrs. Lemoyne. It has been played two or three times professionally since then in America and a great many times in England and America by amateurs. Till lately it was not part of the repertory of the Abbey Theatre, for I had grown to dislike it without knowing what I disliked in it. This winter, however, I have made many revisions and now it plays well enough to give me pleasure. It is printed in this book in the new form, which was acted for the first time on February313 22, 1912, at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin. At the Abbey Theatre, where the platform of the stage comes out in front of the curtain, the curtain falls before the priest's last words. He remains outside the curtain and the words are spoken to the audience like an epilogue.

The Land of Heart's Desire.—This short play was first performed at the Avenue Theatre in the spring of 1894, featuring the following cast:—Maurteen Bruin, Mr. James Welch; Shawn Bruin, Mr. A.E.W. Mason; Father Hart, Mr. G.R. Foss; Bridget Bruin, Miss Charlotte Morland; Maire Bruin, Miss Winifred Fraser; A Faery Child, Miss Dorothy Paget. It ran for just over six weeks. It was revived in America in 1901 when Mrs. Lemoyne took it on tour. It has been performed a few times professionally in America since then and many times in England and America by amateur groups. Until recently, it was not in the Abbey Theatre's repertoire, as I had come to dislike it without knowing the reason. However, this winter, I made many revisions, and now it performs well enough to bring me pleasure. It is printed in this book in its new version, which was performed for the first time on February313 22, 1912, at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin. At the Abbey Theatre, where the stage extends in front of the curtain, the curtain falls before the priest's last words. He stays outside the curtain, and the lines are delivered to the audience like an epilogue.

The Meditation of the Old Fisherman.—This poem is founded upon some things a fisherman said to me when out fishing in Sligo Bay.

The Meditation of the Old Fisherman.—This poem is based on some things a fisherman shared with me while we were fishing in Sligo Bay.

Northern Cold.—The Fomor, the powers of death and darkness and cold and evil, came from the north.

Northern Cold.—The Fomor, the forces of death, darkness, cold, and evil, came from the north.

Nuala.—The wife of Finvarra.

Nuala—Finvarra's wife.

Rose.—The rose is a favourite symbol with the Irish poets, and has given a name to several poems both Gaelic and English, and is used in love poems, in addresses to Ireland like Mr. Aubrey de Vere's poem telling how "The little black rose shall be red at last," and in religious poems, like the old Gaelic one which speaks of "the Rose of Friday," meaning the Rose of Austerity.

Rose.—The rose is a favorite symbol among Irish poets, and it's been the title of several poems in both Gaelic and English. It's featured in love poems and in addresses to Ireland, like Mr. Aubrey de Vere's poem proclaiming how "The little black rose shall be red at last," as well as in religious poems, such as the old Gaelic one that refers to "the Rose of Friday," which means the Rose of Austerity.

Salley.—Willow.

Seven Hazel-trees.—There was once a well overshadowed by seven sacred hazel-trees, in the midst of Ireland. A certain woman plucked their fruit, and seven rivers arose out of the well and swept her away. In my poems this well is the source of all the waters of this world, which are therefore seven-fold.

Seven Hazel-trees.—Once, there was a well shaded by seven sacred hazel-trees in the heart of Ireland. A woman picked their fruit, and seven rivers surged from the well and carried her away. In my poems, this well is the source of all the waters in the world, which is why there are seven of them.

The Wanderings of Usheen.—The poem is founded upon the middle Irish dialogues of S. Patric and Usheen and a certain Gaelic poem of the last century. The events it describes, like the events in most of the poems in this volume, are supposed to have taken place rather in the indefinite period, made up of many periods, described by the folk-tales, than in any particular314 century; it therefore, like the later Fenian stories themselves, mixes much that is mediæval with much that is ancient. The Gaelic poems do not make Usheen go to more than one island, but a story in Silva Gadelica describes "four paradises," an island to the north, an island to the west, an island to the south, and Adam's paradise in the east.

The Wanderings of Usheen.—The poem is based on the middle Irish dialogues of S. Patrick and Usheen, along with a certain Gaelic poem from the last century. The events it describes, like those in most of the poems in this collection, are thought to have occurred in an undefined time period made up of many eras, as described in folk-tales, rather than in any specific314 century; therefore, similar to the later Fenian stories, it blends a lot of medieval elements with ancient ones. The Gaelic poems don't have Usheen visiting more than one island, but a story in Silva Gadelica talks about "four paradises": an island to the north, an island to the west, an island to the south, and Adam's paradise in the east.

315

Printed in Great Britain by

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED
WOKING AND LONDON

Transcriber's Notes:
Page 16: 'thictkes' changed to 'thickets'
Page 172: 'He brings in' could be 'She brings in'
Page 263: 'Before this duy' changed to 'Before this day'
Page 290: 'Far from the hazel and oak.' changed to 'Far from the hazel and oak,'
Page 295: 'move far off' could be 'move far oft'

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POEMS

PREFACE

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

CONTENTS

THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

THE ROSE

TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME

FERGUS AND THE DRUID

THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

THE ROSE OF PEACE

THE ROSE OF BATTLE

A FAERY SONG

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

A CRADLE SONG

THE PITY OF LOVE

THE SORROW OF LOVE

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

THE WHITE BIRDS

A DREAM OF DEATH

A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT

WHO GOES WITH FERGUS?

THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND

THE DEDICATION TO A BOOK OF STORIES SELECTED FROM THE IRISH NOVELISTS

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN

THE TWO TREES

TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE

CROSSWAYS

THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD

THE SAD SHEPHERD

THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES

ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA

THE INDIAN UPON GOD

THE INDIAN TO HIS LOVE

THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES

EPHEMERA

THE MADNESS OF KING GOLL

THE STOLEN CHILD

TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN

THE BALLAD OF FATHER O'HART

THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE

THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER

THE WANDERINGS OF USHEEN

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

GLOSSARY AND NOTES