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_.

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.

SECOND MERCHANT

What has she in her coffers 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 And rushing through the parti-coloured sea Those ships that bring the woman grain and meal. They're but three days 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.

FIRST MERCHANT

Three days for traffic.

(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.

TEIG

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

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.

SECOND MERCHANT

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

FIRST MERCHANT

Who will come deal with us?

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.

MIDDLE-AGED-MAN

I come to deal--if you give honest price.

FIRST MERCHANT (_reading in 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.

THE MAN

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

FIRST MERCHANT

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."

A PEASANT

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

ANOTHER PEASANT

I will not trust my mother after this.

FIRST MERCHANT

There is this crack in you--two hundred crowns.

A PEASANT

That's plenty for a rogue.

ANOTHER PEASANT

I'd give him nothing.

SHEMUS

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

(_A general murmur, during which the_ MIDDLE-AGED MAN _takes money, and slips into background, where he sinks on to a seat_.)

FIRST MERCHANT

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

A WOMAN

What will you give for mine?

FIRST MERCHANT (_reading in 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 Between the hour-glass and the pepper-pot."

THE WOMAN

The scandalous 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."

THE WOMAN

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

FIRST MERCHANT

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

(_She turns to go._)

A 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.

(_She takes them and goes into the crowd._)

FIRST MERCHANT

Come, 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.

(ALEEL _enters_.)

ALEEL

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

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.

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.

FIRST MERCHANT

We cannot take your soul, for it is hers.

ALEEL

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

FIRST MERCHANT

Begone from me, I may not touch it.

ALEEL

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

FIRST MERCHANT

Drag him away. He troubles me.

(TEIG _and_ SHEMUS _lead_ ALEEL _into the crowd_.)

SECOND MERCHANT

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

(SECOND MERCHANT _kisses the gold circlet that is about 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?

SECOND MERCHANT

Deal, deal.

SHEMUS

They say you beat the woman down too low.

FIRST MERCHANT

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

(_An old_ PEASANT WOMAN _comes forward, and he takes 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 And when she could, paid dues." Take up your money.

OLD WOMAN

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

FIRST MERCHANT

That name is like a fire to all damned souls.

(_Murmur among the_ PEASANTS, _who shrink back from her as she goes out_.)

A PEASANT

How she screamed out!

SECOND PEASANT

And maybe we shall scream so.

THIRD PEASANT

I tell you there is no such place as hell.

FIRST MERCHANT

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

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Master, I am afraid.

FIRST MERCHANT

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

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Give me my soul again.

WOMAN (_going on her knees and clinging to_ MERCHANT)

And take this money too, and give me mine.

SECOND MERCHANT

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

(_Throws the woman off._)

PEASANT

Come, let's away.

ANOTHER PEASANT

Yes, yes.

ANOTHER PEASANT

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

ANOTHER PEASANT

Come, come away.

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

CATHLEEN (_entering_)

And so you trade once more?

FIRST MERCHANT

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

CATHLEEN

I come to barter a soul for a great price.

SECOND MERCHANT

What matter, if the soul be 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 That I may feed them till the dearth go by.

FIRST MERCHANT

It may be the soul's worth it.

CATHLEEN

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

FIRST MERCHANT

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

CATHLEEN

Being my own it seems a priceless thing.

SECOND MERCHANT

You offer us----

CATHLEEN

I offer my own soul.

A PEASANT

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?

ANOTHER PEASANT

Look how their claws clutch in their leathern gloves.

FIRST MERCHANT

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.

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.

(CATHLEEN _leans forward to sign_.)

ALEEL (_rushing forward and snatching the pen from her_)

Leave all things to the builder of the heavens.

CATHLEEN

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

ALEEL (_casting the pen on the ground_)

I have seen a vision under a green hedge, A hedge of hips and haws--men yet shall 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.)

CATHLEEN

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

(_She goes out, the_ PEASANTS _crowding round her and kissing her dress_. ALEEL _and the two_ MERCHANTS _are left alone_.)

SECOND MERCHANT

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.

FIRST MERCHANT

We 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.

SECOND MERCHANT

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

(_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._)

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 When 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.

(_He moves about as though the air above him was full of spirits_. OONA _enters_.)

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind 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.

ALEEL

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

OONA

God guard her soul.

ALEEL

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

(_He points downward._)

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.

(_He seizes_ OONA _and drags her into the middle of the room and points downward with vehement gestures_. _The wind roars._)

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

OONA (_casting herself face downwards on the floor_)

O, Maker of all, protect her from the demons, And if a soul must need 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._)

OONA

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

(_She kisses the hands of_ CATHLEEN.)

A PEASANT

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.

(_One who is near the door draws the bolt._)

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_.)

PEASANT

Hush!

PEASANTS

Hush!

PEASANT WOMEN

Hush!

OTHER PEASANT WOMEN

Hush!

CATHLEEN (_half rising_)

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.

A PEASANT WOMAN

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

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

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

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.

(_She dies._)

OONA

Bring me the looking-glass.

(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_:)

O, she is dead!

A PEASANT

She was the great white lily of the world.

A PEASANT

She was more beautiful than the pale stars.

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN

The little plant I love is broken in two.

(ALEEL _takes looking-glass from_ OONA _and flings it upon the floor so that it is broken in 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.

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

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

(_A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder._)

A PEASANT WOMAN

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

ALEEL

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

(_A flash of lightning followed immediately by 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.

(_Everything is lost in darkness._)

AN OLD MAN

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

(_The darkness is broken by a visionary light. The_ PEASANTS _seem to be kneeling upon the_ _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_.)

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.

(_He seizes one of the angels._)

Till you speak You shall not drift 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 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.

(ALEEL _releases 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.

(_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_.)

THE ROSE

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

S. AUGUSTINE.

TO LIONEL JOHNSON

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; The 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._

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.

DRUID

What would you, 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, And what to me was burden without end, To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown Upon his head to cast away my care.

DRUID

What would you, 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.

DRUID

What would you?

FERGUS

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

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, Because I be not of the things I dream.

FERGUS

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

DRUID

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

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!

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?"

Aleel, 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."

"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 "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.

"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.

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.

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.

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 Or 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.

A FAERY SONG

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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: For 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!

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_.

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.

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.

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 Before 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 Under 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.

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, The 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.

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.

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, And 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 In 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 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, And 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.

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 Upon 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 About 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._

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE

_O Rose, thou art sick._

WILLIAM BLAKE.

TO

FLORENCE FARR

MAURTEEN BRUIN BRIDGET BRUIN SHAWN BRUIN MARY BRUIN FATHER HART A FAERY CHILD

_The Scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County of Sligo, and at a remote time._

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._

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; Get 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.

SHAWN

Mother, you are too cross.

BRIDGET

You've married her, And fear to vex her and so take her part.

MAURTEEN (_to_ FATHER 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.

FATHER HART

Their hearts are wild, As be the hearts of birds, till children come.

BRIDGET

She would not mind the kettle, milk the cow, Or even lay the knives and spread the cloth.

SHAWN

Mother, if only----

MAURTEEN

Shawn, this is half empty; Go, bring up the best bottle that we have.

FATHER HART

I never saw her read a book before, What can 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.

(_To Priest._) (SHAWN _goes_.)

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 It 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.

FATHER HART

You should not fill your head with foolish 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, Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top.

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.

FATHER 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, Until old age bring the red flare again.

MAURTEEN

That's true--but she's too young to know it's true.

BRIDGET

She's old enough to know that it is wrong To mope and idle.

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.

BRIDGET

She'd never do a turn if I were silent.

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? Remember 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.

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.

(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

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.

FATHER HART

Whose child can this be?

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.

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?

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.

MARY

He will smile, Father, perhaps, and open His great door.

FATHER HART

Did 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.

(_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_.)

MARY (_coming to 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.

(_She takes milk from the table and carries it to the door._)

FATHER HART

That will be the child That you would have it was no child at all.

BRIDGET

And maybe, Father, what he said was true; For there is not another night in the year So wicked as to-night.

MAURTEEN

Nothing can harm us While the good Father's underneath our roof.

MARY

A little queer 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.

MAURTEEN

Hush, woman, hush!

BRIDGET

She's given milk away. I knew she would bring evil on the house.

MAURTEEN

Who was it?

MARY

Both the tongue and face were strange.

MAURTEEN

Some strangers came last week to Clover Hill; She must be one of them.

BRIDGET

I am afraid.

FATHER HART

The Cross will keep all evil from the house While 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 Hidden away where nobody can find 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.

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 We 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.

(MARY _takes a sod of turf from the fire and goes out through the door_. SHAWN _follows her and meets her coming 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.

MARY

A little queer old man Made me a sign to show he wanted 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-- She is not a fitting wife for any man----

SHAWN

Be quiet, Mother!

MAURTEEN

You are much too cross.

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!

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.

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, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

FATHER HART

You cannot know the meaning of your words.

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.

(SHAWN BRUIN _leads her to a seat at the left 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.

MARY

O, you are the great door-post of this house, And 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.

(_She would put her arms about him, but looks shyly at the priest and lets her arms fall._)

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.

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.

MARY

I would take the world And break it into pieces in my hands To see you smile watching it crumble away.

SHAWN

Then I would mould a world of fire and dew, With 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.

MARY

Your looks are all the candles that 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.

(_A Voice singing in the wood._)

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!

(_Goes to door._)

MARY

O, cling close to me, Because I have said wicked things to-night.

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!"

MAURTEEN

Being happy, I would have all others happy, So I will bring her in out of the cold.

(_He brings in the faery child._)

THE CHILD

I tire of winds and waters and 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.

THE CHILD

I am welcome here. For when I tire of this warm little house There is one here that must away, away.

MAURTEEN

O, listen to her dreamy and strange talk. Are you not cold?

THE CHILD

I will crouch down beside you, For I have run a long, long way this night.

BRIDGET

You have a comely shape.

MAURTEEN

Your hair is wet.

BRIDGET

I'll warm your chilly 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.

THE CHILD

The wine is bitter. Old mother, have you no sweet food for me?

BRIDGET

I have some honey.

(_She goes into the next room._)

MAURTEEN

You have coaxing ways, The mother was quite cross before you came.

(BRIDGET _returns with the honey and fills a porringer with milk_.)

BRIDGET

She is the child of gentle people; look At 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.

THE CHILD

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.

BRIDGET

The young are idle.

THE CHILD

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.

(BRIDGET _gives her more bread and honey_.)

MAURTEEN

O, who would think to find so young a girl Loving old age and wisdom?

THE CHILD

No more, mother.

MAURTEEN

What a small bite! The milk is ready now. (_Hands it to her._) What a small sip!

THE CHILD

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.

(BRIDGET _puts on the shoes, and the_ CHILD _is about to dance, but suddenly sees the crucifix and shrieks and covers her eyes_.)

What is that ugly thing on the black cross?

FATHER HART

You cannot know how naughty your words are! That is our Blessed Lord.

THE CHILD

Hide it away!

BRIDGET

I have begun to be afraid again.

THE CHILD

Hide it away!

MAURTEEN

That would be wickedness!

BRIDGET

That would be sacrilege!

THE CHILD

The tortured thing! Hide it away!

MAURTEEN

Her parents are to blame.

FATHER HART

That is the image of the Son of God.

THE CHILD (_caressing him_)

Hide it away, hide it away!

MAURTEEN

No, no.

FATHER 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.

THE CHILD

Hide it away! And cover it out of sight and out of mind!

(FATHER HART _takes crucifix from wall and carries it towards 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.

(_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.

(_Puts crucifix in inner room._)

THE CHILD

Here is level 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."

(_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.

SHAWN

I heard no steps but hers.

MARY

I hear them now, The unholy powers are dancing in the house.

MAURTEEN

Come over here, and if you promise me Not to talk wickedly of holy things I will give you something.

THE CHILD

Bring it me, old father.

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.

THE CHILD

Come, tell me, do you love me?

MAURTEEN

Yes, I love you.

THE CHILD

Ah, but you love this fireside. 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.

THE CHILD

But you love Him?

BRIDGET

She is blaspheming.

THE CHILD

And do you love me too?

MARY

I do not know.

THE CHILD

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.

MARY

Queen of Angels and kind saints defend us! Some dreadful thing will happen. A while ago She took away the blessed quicken wood.

FATHER HART

You fear because of her unmeasured prattle; She knows no better. Child, how old are you?

THE CHILD

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.

FATHER HART

O she is of the faery people.

THE CHILD

One called, I sent my messengers for milk and fire, She called again and after that I came.

(_All except_ SHAWN _and_ MARY BRUIN _gather behind the priest for protection_.)

SHAWN (_rising_)

Though you have made all these obedient, You have not charmed my sight and won from me A wish or gift to make you powerful; I'll turn you from the house.

FATHER HART

No, I will face her.

THE CHILD

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.

(SHAWN _tries to approach her and cannot_.)

MAURTEEN

Look, look! There something stops him--look how he moves his hands As though he rubbed them on a wall of glass!

FATHER HART

I will confront this mighty spirit alone; Be not afraid, the Father is with us, The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents, The adoring Magi in their coats of mail, And He who died and rose on the third day, And all the nine angelic hierarchies.

(_The_ CHILD _kneels upon the settle beside_ MARY _and puts her arms about her_.)

Cry, daughter, to the Angels and the Saints.

THE CHILD

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.

SHAWN

Awake out of that trance--and cover up Your eyes and ears.

FATHER HART

She must both look and listen, For 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.

THE CHILD

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.

FATHER HART

Daughter, I point you out the way to Heaven.

THE CHILD

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 That drift into the mind at a wink of the eye.

FATHER HART

By the dear Name of the One crucified, I bid you, Mary Bruin, come to me.

THE CHILD

I keep 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.

MAURTEEN (_clinging to him_)

No.

BRIDGET

Do not leave us.

FATHER HART

O, let me go before it is too late; It is my sin alone that brought it all.

(_Singing outside._)

THE CHILD

I hear them sing, "Come, newly-married bride, Come, to the woods and waters and pale lights."

MARY

I will go with you.

FATHER HART

She is lost, alas!

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.

MARY

O, take me with you.

SHAWN

Beloved, I will keep you. I'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.

MARY

Dear face! Dear voice!

THE CHILD

Come, newly-married bride.

MARY

I always loved her world--and yet--and yet----

THE CHILD

White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird.

MARY

She calls me!

THE CHILD

Come with me, little bird.

(_Distant dancing figures appear in the wood._)

MARY

I can hear songs and dancing.

SHAWN

Stay with me.

MARY

I think that I would stay--and yet--and yet----

THE CHILD

Come, little bird, with crest of gold.

MARY (_very softly_)

And yet----

THE CHILD

Come, little bird with silver feet!

(MARY BRUIN _dies, and the_ CHILD _goes_.)

SHAWN

She is 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.

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.

(_Outside there are dancing figures, and it may be 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, 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.'"

CROSSWAYS

_"The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks."_

WILLIAM BLAKE.

To A.E.

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: The 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, Till 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 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, The 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.

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."

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_.

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.

VIJAYA [_entering and throwing a lily at her_]

Hail! hail, my Anashuya.

ANASHUYA

No: be still. I, priestess of this temple, offer up Prayers for the land.

VIJAYA

I will wait here, Amrita.

ANASHUYA

By mighty Brahma's ever rustling robe, Who is Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows! Another fills your mind.

VIJAYA

My mother's name.

ANASHUYA [_sings, coming 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._

[_Sits down on the steps of the temple._]

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

The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter, Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows, Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.

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?

VIJAYA [_sings_]

_Sing you of her, O first few stars, Whom 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._

ANASHUYA

What know the pilots of the stars of tears?

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----

ANASHUYA [_going away from him_]

Ah me, you love another,

[_Bursting into tears._]

And may some dreadful ill befall her quick!

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.

ANASHUYA

Vijaya, swear to love her never more,

VIJAYA

Ay, ay.

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!

VIJAYA

By the parents of the gods, I swear.

ANASHUYA [_sings_]

_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.

[VIJAYA _goes_.]

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.

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: _Who 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._

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, One 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 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.

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; Autumn 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."

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 To 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 When 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. _They 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._

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 Till 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, For 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._

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.

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.

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_.

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, To 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, Keening from Ballinafad;

Keening from Inishmurray, Nor stayed for bite or sup; This way were all reproved Who dig old customs up.

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 I 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 Blowin' 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.

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 Pours 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, "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.

THE WANDERINGS OF USHEEN

"_Give me the world if Thou wilt, but grant me an asylum for my affections._"

TULKA.

TO EDWIN J. ELLIS