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University of California • Berkeley

From the Library of
FLORENCE S. WALTER

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POEMS

I. OJVJDOAJ VPVBUJHBD BY T- jgjHEI^ V2VTWI2SI •

He who tastes a crust of bread tastes all the stars and all the heavens.

Paracelsus.

3§^ This book contains all the writer cares to
preserve out of his previous volumes of verse.
He has revised, and to a large extent re-written,
The Wanderings of Usheen and the lyrics and
ballads from the same volume, and expanded and,
he hopes, strengthened The Countess Cathleen. He
has, however, been compelled to leave unchanged
many lines he would gladly have re-written, because
his present skill is not great enough to separate
them from thoughts and expressions which seem
to him worth preserving. He has printed the
ballads and lyrics from the same volume as The
Wanderings of Usheen, and two ballads written at
the same time, though published later, in a section
named Crossivays, because in them he tried many
pathways; and those from the same volume as
v

The Countess Cathleen in a section named The Rose,
for in them he has found, he believes, the only
pathway whereon he can hope to see with his own
eyes the Eternal Rose of Beauty and of Peace.

W. B. YEATS.

Sligo, March 24th, 1895.

VI

TO SOME I HAVE TALKED WITH
BY THE FIRE

While I wrought out these JUful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent doivn 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 things, but the beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.
vii

THE WANDERINGS OF USHEEN ... 1

THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN .... 63

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE ... 157

THE ROSE 195

TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OP TIME . . 197

FERGUS AND THE DRUID 199

THE DEATH OP CUHOOLLIN 202

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD 208

THE ROSE OP PEACE 209

THE ROSE OP RATTLE 210

A FAERY SONG 212

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE . . . .213

A CRADLE SONG 215

THE PITY OF LOVE ...... 216

THE SORROW OF LOVE ..... 217

ix

WHEN YOU ARE OLD 218

THE WHITE BIRDS 219

A DREAM OP DEATH 221

A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT .... 222

THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND . . 223

THE DEDICATION TO A BOOK OF STORIES SELECTED

FROM THE IRISH NOVELISTS .... 226

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER . . 228

THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN . . . 229

THE TWO TREES 232

TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES . . . 234

CROSSWAYS 237

THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD . . . 239

THE SAD SHEPHERD 242

THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES . . 244

ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA 245

THE INDIAN UPON GOD ..... 252

THE INDIAN TO HIS LOVE ..... 254

THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES .... 256

EPHEMERA 257

THE MADNESS OF KING GOLL .... 259

THE STOLEN CHILD 263

X

TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS .

THE MEDITATION OP THE OLD FISHERMAN

THE BALLAD OF FATHER o'hART

THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE

THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER

266

267
268
270
273
276

GLOSSARY

279

XI

THE WANDERINGS OF USHEEN

To Edwin J. Ellis

Give me the world if Thou wilt, but grant me
an asylum for my affections.

Tulka.

BOOK I

ST. 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.

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,
5

With 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.

ST. PATRICK

You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

USHEEN

' The hunting of heroes should be glad :
* Why do you wind no horn ? ' she said.
' And every hero droop his head ?
6

' The hornless deer is not more sad

* That many a peaceful moment had,

' More sleek than any granary mouse,

' In his own leafy forest house

1 Among the waving fields of fern/

' O pleasant maiden/ answered Finn,

< We think on Oscar s pencilled urn,

1 And on the heroes lying slain,

' On Gavra's raven-covered plain ;

' But where are your noble kith and kin,

'And into what country do you ride V

* I am Neave, a child of the mighty Shee,

1 And was born where the sun drops down in
the tide,

* O worn deed-doer.'

e What may bring
c To this dim shore those gentle feet ?
' Did your companion wander away ?'

Then did you answer, pearl-pale one,
With laughter low, and tender, and sweet :
f I have not yet, war-weary king,

7

' Been spoken of with any man.
' For love of Usheen my feet ran
1 Over the glossy sea/

'O, wild
' Young princess, when were you beguiled
' By this young man, Usheen my son ? '

' I loved no man, though canns besought,

' And many a prince of lofty name,

' Until the Danaan poets came,

1 Bringing me honeyed, wandering thought

' Of noble Usheen and his fame,

' Of battles broken by his hands,

c Of stories builded by his words

• That are like coloured Asian birds

1 At evening in their rainless lands/

O Patrick, 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,
c And I will make a thousand songs,
c And set your name all names above,
8

' 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
1 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,
f 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 —
e And a hundred robes of murmuring silk,
1 And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep
1 Whose long wool whiter than sea froth flows,
1 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,
1 But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife,
' And a hundred maidens, merry as birds,
' Who when they dance to a fitful measure
1 Have a speed like the speed of the salmon herds,
' Shall follow your horn and obey your whim,
9

' And you shall know the Danaan leisure :
1 And Neave be with you for a wife/

Then she sighed gently, c It grows late,

1 And many a mile is the faery state,

' Where I would be when the white moon climbs,

1 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 ?

0 you, with whom in sloping valleys,
Or down the dewy forest alleys,

1 chased at morn the flying deer,

10

With whom I hurled the hurrying spear,
And 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.

ST. PATRICK

Boast not, nor mourn with drooping head
Companions long accurst and dead,
And hounds for centuries dust and air.

USHEEN

We galloped over the glossy sea :

I know not if days passed or hours,

For Neave 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.

On ! on ! and now a hornless deer
Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound
All pearly white, save one red ear ;
11

And now a maiden rode like the wind
With an apple of gold in her tossing hand,
And with quenchless eyes and fluttering hair
A beautiful young man followed behind.

e Were these two born in the Danaan land,
' Or have they breathed the mortal air ? '

' Vex them no longer/ Neave 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,
12

Pierced 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 ;
13

And on the shores were many boats

With 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 woods and waters meet

We tied the horse in a leafy clump,

And Neave blew three merry notes

Out of a little silver trump ;

And then an answering whisper 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 all together ;

Their brows were white as the fragrant milk,

Their brattas made out of yellow silk,

And trimmed with many a crimson feather :

And when they saw that the bratta I wore

Was dim with the mire of a mortal shore,

They fingered it and gazed on me

And laughed like murmurs of the sea ;

But Neave with a swift distress

Bid them away and hold their peace ;
And when they heard her voice they ran
And 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 Angus 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 lead 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 ;
15

But when I sang of human joy

A sorrow wrapped each merry face,

And, Patrick ! by your beard, they wept,

Until one came, a tearful boy ;

■ 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,

1 0 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,
16

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.

' Joy drowns the twilight in the dew,

* And fills with stars night's purple cup,
1 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,
1 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,
1 And in some gloomy barrow lie

1 Folded like a frozen fly ;

1 Then mock at Death and Time with glances

1 And waving 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

17 B

( Out of the moon's pale twisted shell ;

' But now hearts cry that hearts are slaves,

' And toss and turn in narrow caves ;

1 But here there is nor law nor rule,

' Nor have hands held a weary tool ;

' And here there is nor Change nor Death,

4 But only kind and merry breath,

' For joy is God and God is joy.'

With one long glance on maid and boy

And the thin crescent 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,
18

' 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,

Bending 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.

c For neither Death nor Change comes near us,

' And all listless hours fear us,

' And we fear no dawning morrow,

1 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 ;
19

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,

c 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

f Like bubbles in a frozen pond ;

' But we in a lonely land abide

c 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/

0 Patrick ! for a hundred years

1 chased upon that woody shore
The deer, the badger, and the boar.
O Patrick ! for a hundred years

20

At evening on the glimmering sands,
Beside the piled-up hunting spears,
These now outworn and withered hands
Wrestled among the island bands.
O Patrick ! 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.
O Patrick ! for a hundred years
The gentle Neave was my wife ;
But now two things devour my life —
The things that most of all I hate —
Fasting and prayers.

ST. PATRICK

Tell on.

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 shore I stood,
£1

I drew out of the numberless
White flowers of the foam a staff of wood
From some dead warriors 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 Neave softly came
And 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 ruddy 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,
22

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,
But fainter than a young lamb's bleat.

• An old man stirs the fire to a blaze,

4 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,
1 And the cry of the hounds on the hills of old.

1 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,
c 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,
1 That raise their heads and wander singing,
1 Must murmur at last 'unjust, unjust* ;
' And ' my speed is a weariness/ falters the mouse ;
' And the kingfisher turns to a ball of dust,
( 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
1 And bid the stars drop down from the sky,
1 And the moon like a pale rose wither away/

The singing melted in the night ;
The isle was over now and gone ;
The mist closed round us ; pearly light
On horse and sea and saddle shone.

24

BOOK II

Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And then away, away, like spiral flames ;
And now fled by, mist-covered, without sound,
The youth and lady and the deer and hound ;
1 Gaze no more on the phantoms/ Neave 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
Troubled her song.

27

I do not know if days
Or hours passed by, yet hold the morning rays
Shone many times among the glimmering flowers
Wove in her flower-like 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 Neave 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,
And the fixed stars had dawned and shone and set,
28

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 :
f 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
1 A larch- wood hunting spear.

■ O sigh, O fluttering sigh, be kind to me ;
1 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,

1 And shake their coverlet.
29

' 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 Neave said.

' Neither the living, nor the unlabouring dead,
c Nor the high gods who never lived, may fight
' My enemy and hope : demons for fright
' Jabber and scream about him in the night ;
f For he is strong and crafty as the seas
f That sprang under the Seven Hazel Trees ;
30

' And I must needs endure and hate and weep,

' Until the gods and demons drop asleep,

' Hearing Aed touch the mournful strings of gold.

1 Is he so dreadful ? '

1 Be not over bold,
' But flee while you still may.'

Then I :
c This demon shall be pierced and drop and die,
' And his loose bulk be thrown in the loud tide/

1 Flee from him/ pearl-pale Neave weeping cried,

' For all men flee the demons ' ; but moved not,

Nor shook my firm and spacious 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,
A hundred horsemen on the basalt floor
Beneath had paced content : we held our way
31

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 captives' 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,
And came again, holding a second light
Burning between her fingers, and in mine
32

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.

Neave 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,
Looked down on me ; and in the self-same place
33 c

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 dusky 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
34

Of sword and brazen battle-axe, while day

Gave to high noon and noon to night gave way ;

But 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 had torn it down ; but when the west

Surged up in plumy fire, I lunged and drave

Through heart and spine, and cast him in the wave,

Lest Neave 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.
But when the sun once more in saffron stept,
35

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.

ST. 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.

USHEEN

Saint, do you weep ? I hear amid the thunder
The Fenian horses — armour torn asunder —
Laughter and cries : the armies clash and shock —
86

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 sun emerge
His new healed shape : and for a hundred years
So warred, so feasted, with nor dreams, nor fears,
Nor languor, nor fatigue : an 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 stood by white-haired Finn
While the woodpecker made a merry din,
The hare leaped in the grass.

Young Neave came
Holding that horse, and sadly called my name ;
I mounted, and we passed over the lone
37

And 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,
c 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 away/

And then lost Neave murmured, ' Love, we go
e To the Island of Forgetfulness, for lo !
1 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.
38

BOOK III

Fled foam underneath us, and round 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 Neave, 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.

41

Were we days long or hours long in riding, when

rolled in a grisly peace,
An 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 sands 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 —

42

Long sighs arose in our spirits, beneath us bubbled
the ground.

And 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 slum-
bering 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 ;

43

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,
And 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

has 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.

44

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,
Lay 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,

neither in house of a cann
In a realm where the handsome are many, or in

glamours by demons flung,
Are faces alive with such beauty made known to

the soft eye of man,

45

Yet weary with passions that faded when the
seven-fold seas were young.

And I gazed on the bell-branch, sleep's forbear,

far sung by the Sennachies.
I saw how those slumberers, grown weary, there

camping in grasses deep,
Of 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 Neave, 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, cann of the nails
of gold !

46

1 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 ;
His 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.

47

In the roots of the grasses, the sorrels, I laid my

body as low ;
And pearl-pale Neave lay by me, her brow on the

midst of my breast ;
And the horse was gone in the distance, and years

after years began flow ;
Square leaves of the ivy moved over us, binding us

down to our rest.

And, 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 ash wood, the
shield out of ozier and hide ;

How the hammers spring on the anvil, on the spear-
head's burning spot ;
48

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 canns of the Red Branch, with

roaring of laughter and songs,
Or moved as they moved once, love-making or

piercing the tempest with sails.

Came Blanid, Mac Nessa, and Fergus who feastward

of old time slunk,
Cook Barach, the traitor ; and warward, the spittle

on his beard never dry,
Came 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,

49 n

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 ;
When 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.

50

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 dim-
ness, their dews dropping sleep.

O, had you seen beautiful Neave wail to herself and

blanch,
Lord of the croziers, you even had lifted your hands

and wept :
But, the bird in my fingers, 1 mounted, mindful

only to launch
Forth, piercing the distance — beneath me the hoofs

impatiently stept.

I cried, ■ O Neave ! O white one ! if only a twelve-

houred day,

I 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,
51

cAh, 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 turn-
ing to thread-bare rags ;

' No more to crawl on the seas with long oars mile
after mile,

1 But to be amid shooting of flies and flowering of
rushes and flags/

Their motionless eyeballs of spirits grown mild with

mysterious thought,
Watched her those seamless faces from the valley's

glimmering girth ;
As she murmured, fO 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,
52

' And softly come to your Neave over the tops of

the tide ;
' But weep for your Neave, 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
f 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,
1 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 ? '

53

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,
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.

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,

54

Fled foam underneath me, and round me a wander-
ing 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, em-
bosomed 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
Came, 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 sands and the shells
55

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 race stooping with mattock

and spade.

Or weeding or ploughing with faces a-shining with

much-toil wet ;
While in this place and that place, with bodies un-

glorious, 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.
56

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 they 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,
And their hounds, and their steeds, and their loves,

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 mur-
mured, ' Where white clouds lie spread

' On Crevroe or broad Knockfefin, with many of old
they feast

57

On the floors of the gods.' He cried, ' No, the gods
a long time are dead.'

And lonely and longing for Neave, 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 :
Leaning 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

Fenians' old strength.

The rest you have heard of, O croziered one — how,
when divided the girth,
58

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.

ST. PATRICK

Where 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,

59

Between them a gateway of brass, and the howl of
the angels who fell.

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 under-
neath 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,
Hearing hell loud with a murmur, as shouting and

mocking we sweep.

We will tear the red flaming stones out, and batter
the gateway of brass
60

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 Eri, of wars, and of

old wounds, and rest.

ST. PATRICK

On the red 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 weep you, and wear you the flags with your

knees, for your soul that is lost
Through the demon love of its youth and its godless

and passionate age.

USHEEN

Ah, me ! to be shaken with coughing and broken

with old age and pain,
Without laughter, a show unto children, alone with

remembrance and fear,
All emptied of purple hours as a beggar's cloak in

the rain,

61

As a grass seed crushed by a pebble, as 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.

62

THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN

To Miss Maud Gonne

* The sorrowful are dumb for thee.'

Lament of Morion Shehone for
Miss Mary Bourke.

shemus RUA, . a peasant.

teig, . . . his son.

aleel, . . . a young bard.

maurteen, . . a gardener.

THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN.

oona, . . . her foster mother.

MAIRE, . . . wife <?/" SHEMUS RUA.

two demons disguised as MERCHANTS.

MUSICIANS.

PEASANTS, SERVANTS, etc.

ANGELICAL BEINGS, SPIRITS, AND FAERIES.

The scene is laid in Ireland, and in old times.

65

ACT I

The cabin of siiemus rua. The door is in the centre of the
wall at the back. 7^he window is at the right side of it, and
a little catholic shrine hangs at the other. To the right is a
pantry door, and to the left a dim fire. A wood of oak, pine,
hazel, and quicken is seen through the window half hidden in
vapour and twilight, maire watches TEIG, who fills a pot
with water. He stops as if to listen, and spills some of the
water.

MAIRE

You are all thumbs.

TEIG

Hear how the dog bays, mother,
And how the gray hen flutters in the coop.
Strange things are going up and down the land,
These famine times : by Tubber-vanach cross-roads
A woman met a man with ears spread out,
And they moved up and down like wings of bats.

MAIRE

Shemus stays late.

69

TEIG

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

maire [going over to the little shrine]

White Virgin,
Bring Shemus safe home from the hateful forest ;
Save Shemus from the wolves ; Shemus is reckless ;
And save him from the demons of the woods,
Who have crept out and pace upon the roads,
Deluding dim-eyed souls now newly dead,
And those alive who have gone crazed with famine.
Save him, White Virgin.

TEIG

And but now
I thought I heard far-off tympans and harps.

[Knocking at the door]

MAIRE

Shemus has come.

70

TEIG

May he bring better food
Than the lean crow he brought us yesterday.

[maire opens the aoor, and shemus comes in with
a dead wolf on his shoulder]

MAIRE

Shemus, you are late home : you have been lounging
And chattering with some one : you know well
How the dreams trouble me, and how I pray,
Yet you lie sweating on the hill from morn,
Or linger at the crossways with all comers,
Gilding your tongue with the calamitous times.

SHEMUS

You '11 rail my head off. Here is a good dinner.

[He throws the wolf on the table]
A wolf is better than a carrion crow.
I searched all day : the mice and rats and hedge-
hogs
Seemed to be dead, and I could hardly hear
A wing moving in all the famished woods,
71

Though the dead leaves and clauber of four forests
Cling to my footsole. I turned home but now,
And saw, sniffing the floor in a bare cow-house,
This young wolf here : the crossbow brought him
down.

MAIRE

Praised be the saints ! [After a pause]

Why did the house dog bay ?

SHEMUS

He heard me coming and smelt food — what else ?

TEIG

We will not starve awhile.

SHEMUS

What food 's within ?

TEIG

There is a bag half full of meal, a pan
Half full of milk.

72

SHEMUS

And we have Maive the hen.

TEIG

The pinewood were less hard.

MAIRE

Before you came
She made a great noise in the hencoop, Shemus.
What fluttered in the window ?

TEIG

Two horned owls
Have blinked and fluttered on the window sill
From when the dog began to bay.

SHEMUS

Hush, hush.
[He Jits an arrow to ike crossbow, and goes towards
the door. A sudden burst of music without]
They are off again : some lady or gentleman
Roves in the woods with tympan and with harp.
73

Teig, put the wolf upon the upper shelf
And shut the door.

[teig goes into the cupboard with the wolf: returns
and fastens the door behind him]

Sit on the creepy stool
And call up a whey face and a crying voice,
And let your head be bowed upon your knees.

[He opens the door of the cabin]
Come in, kind gentles, — a full score of evenings
This threshold worn away by many a foot
Has been passed only by the snails and birds
And by our own poor hunger-shaken feet.

[The countess cathleen, aleel (who carries a
small square harp), oona, and a little group of
fantastically dressed musicians come in]

CATHLEEN

Are you so hungry ?

teig [from beside the fire]

Lady, I fell but now,
And lay upon the threshold like a log.

74

I have not tasted a crust for these four days.

[The countess cathleen empties her purse on to
the table']

CATHLEEN

Had I more money I would give it you,
But we have passed by many cabins to-day,
And if you come to-morrow to my house
You shall have twice the sum. I am the owner
Of a long empty castle in these woods.

MAIRE

Then you are Countess Cathleen : you and yours

Are ever welcome under my poor roof.

Will you sit down and warm you by the fire ?

COUNTESS CATHLEEN

We must find out this castle in the wood
Before the chill o' the night.

[The musicians begin to tune their instruments]
Do not blame me,
Good woman, for the tympan and the harp :
75

Iwas bid fly the terror of the times
And wrap me round with music and sweet song
Or else pine to my grave. I have lost my way ;
And the bard Aleel, who should know these woods,
Because we met him on their border but now
Wandering and singing like the foam of the sea,
Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come
That he can give no help.

maire [going to the door with her]

Beyond the hazel
Is a green shadowed pathway, and it goes
To your great castle in malevolent woods.

ALEEL

Shut to the door and shut the woods away,
For, till we lost them half-an-hour ago,
Two gray horned owls hooted above our heads
Of terrors to come. Tympan and harp awake !
For though the world drift from us like a sigh,
Music is master of all under the moon ;
And play ' The Wind that blows by Cummen Strand.'

[Music]
76

[Sings]
Impetuous heart, be still, be still ;

Your sorrowful love may never be told ;
Cover it up with a lonely tune.
He wlio could bend all things to His will
Has covered the door of the infinite fold
With the pale stars and the wandering moon.
[ While he is singing, he, countess cathleen, oona,
and the musicians go out]

maire [bolting the door]
When wealthy and wise folk wander from their peace
And fear wood things, poor folk may draw the bolt
And pray before the fire.

[shemus counts out the money, and rings a piece
upon the table]

SHEMUS

The Mother of God,
Hushed by the waving of the immortal wings,
Has dropped in a doze and cannot hear the poor :
I passed by Margaret Nolan's ; for nine days
Her mouth was green with dock and dandelion —
And now they wake her.

77

MAIRE

I will go the next ;
Our parents' cabins bordered the same field.

SHEMUS

God, and the Mother of God, have dropped asleep,
For they are weary of the prayers and candles ;
But Satan pours the famine from his bag,
And I am mindful to go pray to him
To cover all this table with red gold.
Teig, will you dare me to it ?

TEIG

Not I, father.

MAIRE

O Shemus, hush, maybe your mind might pray
In spite o' the mouth.

SHEMUS

Two crowns and twenty pennies.

MAIRE

Is yonder quicken wood ?

78

shemus [picking the bough from the table]
He swayed about,
And so I tied him to a quicken bough
And slung him from my shoulder.

maire [taking the bough from him]

Shemus ! Shemus !
What, would you burn the blessed quicken wood ?
A spell to ward off demons and ill faeries.
You know not what the owls were that peered in,
For evil wonders live in this old wood,
And they can show in what shape please them best.
And we have had no milk to leave o' nights
To keep our own good people kind to us.
And Aleel, who has talked with the great Shee,
Is full of terrors to come.

[She lays the bough on a chair]

SHEMUS

I would eat my supper
With no less mirth if chaired beside the hearth
Were Pooka, sowlth, or demon of the pit
Rubbing its hands before the flame o' the pine.

[He rings another piece of money. A sound of
footsteps outside the door]
79

MAIRE

Who knows what evil you have brought to us ?
I fear the wood things, Shemus.

[A knock at the door]
Do not open.

SHEMUS

A crown and twenty pennies are not enough
To stop the hole that lets the famine in.

[The little shrine falls]

MAIRE

Look ! look !

shemus [kicking it to pieces]
The Mother of God has dropped asleep,
And all her household things have gone to wrack.

MAIRE

O Mary, Mother of God, be pitiful !

[shemus opens the door, two merchants stand
without. They have bands of gold round their
foreheads j and each carries a bag upon his
shoulder]

80

FIRST MERCHANT

Have you food here ?

SHEMUS

For those who can pay well.

SECOND MERCHANT.

We are rich merchants seeking merchandise.

SHEMUS

Gentles, come in.

MAIRE

Gentles, do not come in ;
We have no food, not even for ourselves.

FIRST MERCHANT

There is a wolf on the third shelf in the cupboard.

{They enter]

SHEMUS

Gentles, forgive : she is not used to quality,
And is half mad with being much alone.
How did you know I had taken a young wolf?
81 F

Fine wholesome food, though somewhat strong i' the

flavour.

[The second merchant sits down by thejire and
begins rubbing his hands. The first merchant
stands looking at the quicken bough on the
chair]

FIRST MERCHANT

I would rest here : the night is somewhat chilly,
And my feet footsore going up and down
From land to land and nation unto nation :
The fire burns dimly ; feed it with this bough.

[shemus throws the bough into the fire. The
first merchant sits down on the chair. The
merchants' chairs are on each side of the
fire. The table is between them. Each lays
his bag before him on the table. The night has
closed in somewhat, and the main light comes
from the fire]

MAIRE

What have you in the bags ?

shemus

Gentles, forgive.
82

Women grow curious and feather-thoughted
Through being in each others company
More than is good for them.

FIRST MERCHANT

Our bags are full
Of golden pieces to buy merchandise.

[They pour gold pieces on to the table out of their
bags. It is covered with the gold pieces.
They shine in the firelight, maire goes to
tlie door of the pantry, and watches the
merchants, midtering to herself]

TEIG

These be great gentles.

first merchant [taking a stone bottle out of
his bag]

Come about the fire,
And here is wine more fragrant than all roses.

SECOND MERCHANT

Wine that can hush asleep the petty war
Of good and evil, and awake instead
A scented flame flickering above that peace
The bird of prey knows well in his deep heart.

83

shemus [bringing drinking cups]
I do not understand you, but your wine
Sets me athirst — its praise made your eyes lighten.
May I, too, taste it ?

FIRST MERCHANT

Ay, come drink and drink,
I bless all mortals who drink long and deep.
My curse upon the salt-strewn road of monks.

[teig and shemus sit down at the table and drink]

TEIG

You must have seen rare sights and done rare
things.

FIRST MERCHANT

What think you of the master whom we serve r

SHEMUS

I have grown weary of my days in the world
Because I do not serve him.

FIRST MERCHANT

More of this
When we have eaten, for we love right well
84

A merry meal, a warm and leaping fire
And easy hearts.

SHEMUS

Come, Maire, and cook the wolf.

maire [coming towards thejire]
The water will not boil for you.

[The first merchant whispers to the water]

FIRST MERCHANT

It boils.

MAIRE

I will not cook for you.

SHEMUS

Maire is mad.
[teig and shemus stand up and stagger about]

SHEMUS

That wine 's the suddenest wine man ever tasted.

MAIRE

I will not cook for you : you are not human :
Before you came two horned owls peered at us ;
85

The dog bayed, and the tongue of Shemus

maddened.
When you came in the Virgin's blessed shrine
Fell from its nail, and when you sat down here
You poured out wine as the wood sheogues do
When they entice a soul out of the world.
Why did you come to us ? Was not death near ?

FIRST MERCHANT

We are two merchants.

MAIRE

If you be not demons
Go and give alms among the starving poor,
You seem more rich than any under the moon.

FIRST MERCHANT

If we knew where to find deserving poor,
We would give alms.

MAIRE

Then ask of Father John.
86

FIRST MERCHANT

We know the evils of mere charity,

And would devise a more considered way.

Let each man bring one piece of merchandise.

MAIRE

And have the starving any merchandise ?

FIRST MERCHANT

We do but ask what each man has.

MAIRE

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

FIRST MERCHANT

They have not sold all yet.

MAIRE

What have they ?

FIRST MERCHANT

They have still their souls.
[maire shrieks. He beckons to teig and shemus]
87

Come hither.
See you these little golden heaps ? Each one
Is payment for a soul. From charity
We give so great a price for those poor flames.
Say to all men we buy men's souls — away.

[They do not stir]
This pile for you and this for you.

SHEMUS

We go.
[teig and shemus go out]

maire [kneeling]
Destroyers of souls, may God destroy you quickly !

FIRST MERCHANT

No curses injure the immortal demons.

MAIRE

You shall at last dry like dry leaves, and hang
Nailed like dead vermin to the doors of God.
88

FIRST MERCHANT

Woman, you shall be ours. This famine shall not

cease.
You shall eat grass, and dock, and dandelion,
And fail till this stone threshold seems a wall,
And when your hands can scarcely drag your body
We shall be near you.

[To SECOND MERCHANT]

Bring the meal out.
[The second merchant brings the bag of meal
from the pantry]

Burn it. [maire faints]

Now she has swooned, our faces go unscratched ;
Bring me the gray hen too.

[The second merchant goes out through the door
and returns with the hen strangled. He flings
it on the floor. While he is away the first
merchant makes up the fire. The first
merchant then fetches the pan of milk from
the pantry , and spills it on the ground. He
returns, and brings out the wolf and throws
it down by the hen]
89

These need much burning.
This stool and this chair here will make good fuel.

[He begins breaking the chair]

90

ACT II

A great hall in the castle of the COUNTESS C ATHLEEN. There is a
large window at the farther end, through which the forest is
visible. The wall to the right juts out slightly, cutting off an
angle of the room. A flight of stone steps leads up to a small
arched door in the jutting wall. Through the door can be seen
a little oratory. The hall is hung with ancient tapestry,
representing the loves and wars and huntings of the Fenian
and Red Brand warriors. There are doors to the right and
left. On the left side OONA sits, as if asleep, beside a spinning
wheel. The countess cathleen stands farther back and
more to the right, close to a group of the musicians still in
their fantastic dresses, who are playing a merry tune.

CATHLEEN

Be silent, I am tired of tympan and harp.

[The musicians go out. The countess cathleen
goes over to oona]

You were asleep.

oona

No, child, I was but thinking
Why you have grown so sad.
93

CATHLEEN

The famine frets me.

OONA

I have lived now near ninety winters, child,
And I have known three things no doctor cures —
Love, loneliness, and famine — nor found refuge
Other than growing old and full of sleep.
See you where Usheen and young Neave ride
Wrapped in each other's arms, and where the Fenians
Follow their hounds along the fields of tapestry ;
How merry they lived once, yet men died then.
Sit down by me, and I will chaunt the song
About the Danaan nations in their raths
That Aleel sang for you by the great door
Before we lost him in the shadow of leaves.

CATHLEEN

No, sing the song he sang in the dim light,
When we first found him in the shadow of leaves,
About King Fergus in his brazen car
Driving with troops of dancers through the woods.

[She crouches down on the floor, and lays her head
on oona's knees]

94

OONA

Dear heart, make a soft cradle of old tales,
And songs, and music : wherefore should you sadden
For wrongs you cannot hinder ? the great God
Smiling condemns the lost : be mirthful : He
Bids youth be merry and old age be wise.

a voice [without]
You may not see the Countess.

ANOTHER VOICE

I must see her.

[Sound of a slight struggle. A servant enters
from door to R.]

servant
The gardener is resolved to speak with you.
I cannot stay him.

CATHLEEN

You may come in, Maurteen.

[The gardener, an old man, comes in from the
R., and the servant goes out]
95

GARDENER

Forgive my clay-soiled coat — my muddy shoes.
I bring ill words, your ladyship — too bad
To send with any other.

CATHLEEN

These bad times,
Can any news be bad or any good ?

GARDENER

A crowd of ugly lean-faced rogues last night

— And may God curse them ! — climbed the garden

wall.
There 's scarce an apple now on twenty trees,
And my asparagus and strawberry beds
Are trampled into clauber, and the boughs
Of beech and plum-trees broken and torn down
For some last fruit that hung there. My dog, too,
My old blind Simon, him who had no tail,
They murdered — God's red anger seize them.

CATHLEEN

I know how pears and all the tribe of apples
Are daily in your love — how this ill chance
96

Is sudden doomsday fallen on your year ;
So do not say no matter. I but say
I blame the famished season, and no more.
Then be not troubled.

GARDENER

Thanks, your ladyship.

CATHLEEN

What portents and what rumours of the famine ?

GARDENER

The yellow vapour, in whose folds it came,
That creeps along the hedges at nightfall,
Makes my new shrubs and saplings poor and sickly.
I pray against it.

[He goes towards the door, then pauses]
If her ladyship
Would give me an old crossbow, I would watch
Behind a bush and guard the pears o' nights
And make a hole in somebody I know of.

CATHLEEN

They '11 give you a long draught of ale below.

[The gardener goes out]
97 g

OONA

What did he say ? — he stood on my deaf side.

CATHLEEN

His apples are all stolen. Pruning time,
And the slow ripening of his pears and apples,
For him is a long, heart-moving history.

OONA

Now lay your head once more upon my knees.
I '11 sing how Fergus drove his brazen cars.

[She chaunts with the thin voice of age]

Who will go drive with Fergus norv,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore t
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,

And brood on hopes and fears no more.

You have dropped down again into your trouble.
You do not hear me.

CATHLEEN

Ah, sing on, old Oona,
I hear the horn of Fergus in my heart.
98

OONA

I do not know the meaning of the song.
I am too old.

CATHLEEN

The horn is calling, calling.

OONA

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon Loves 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 servant's voice [without]
The Countess Cathleen must not be disturbed.

ANOTHER VOICE

Man, I must see her.

CATHLEEN

Who now wants me, Paudeen ?
99

servant [ from the door]
A herdsman and his history.

CATHLEEN

He may come.
[The herdsman enters from door to R.]

HERDSMAN

Forgive this dusty gear : I have come far.
My sheep were taken from the fold last night.
You will be angry : I am not to blame.
Go blame these robbing times.

CATHLEEN

No blame 's with you.
I blame the famine.

HERDSMAN

Kneeling, I give thanks.
When gazing on your face, the poorest, Lady,
Forget their poverty ; the rich their care.

CATHLEEN

What rumours and what portents of the famine ?
100

HERDSMAN

As I came down the lane by Tubber-vanach
A boy and man sat cross-legged on two stones,
With moving hands and faces famine-thin,
Gabbling to crowds of men and wives and boys
Of how two merchants at a house in the woods
Buy souls for hell, giving so great a price
That men may live through all the dearth in plenty.
The vales are famine crazy — I 'm right glad
My home is on the mountain near to God.

[He turns to go]

CATHLEEN

They '11 give you ale and meat before you go.
You must have risen at dawn to come so far.
Keep your bare mountain — let the world drift by,
The burden of its wrongs rests not on you.

HERDSMAN

I am content to serve your ladyship.

[He goes]

OONA

What did he say ? — he stood on my deaf side.
He seemed to give you word of woful things.
101

CATHLEEN

O, I am sadder than an old air, Oona,

My heart is longing for a deeper peace

Than Fergus found amid his brazen cars :

Would that like Adene my first forbear s daughter

Who followed once a twilight piercing tune,

I could go down and dwell among the Shee

In their old ever-busy honeyed land.

OONA

You should not say such things — they bring ill-
luck.

CATHLEEN

The image of young Adene on the arras,
Walking along, one finger lifted up ;
And that wild song of the unending dance
Of the dim Danaan nations in their raths,
Young Aleel sang for me by the great door,
Before we lost him in the shadow of leaves,
Have filled me full of all these wicked words.

[The servant enters hastily, followed by three men.
Two are peasants]
102

SERVANT

The steward of the castle brings two men
To talk with you.

STEWARD

And tell the strangest story
The mouth of man has uttered.

CATHLEEN

More food taken ;
Yet learned theologians have laid down
That he who has no food, offending no way,
May take his meat and bread from too-full larders.

FIRST PEASANT

We come to make amends for robbery.
I stole five hundred apples from your trees,
And laid them in a hole ; and my friend here
Last night stole two large mountain sheep of yours
And hung them on a beam under his thatch.

SECOND PEASANT

His words are true.

103

FIRST PEASANT

Since then our luck has changed.
As I came down the lane by Tubber-vanach
I fell on Sheraus Rua and his son,
And they led me where two great gentlemen
Buy souls for money, and they bought my soul.
I told my friend here — my friend also trafficked.

SECOND PEASANT

His words are true.

FIRST PEASANT

Now people throng to sell,
Noisy as seagulls tearing a dead fish.
There soon will be no man or woman's soul
Unbargained for in fivescore baronies.

SECOND PEASANT

His words are true.

FIRST PEASANT

When we had sold we talked,
And having no more comfortable life
104

Than this that makes us warm — our souls being

bartered
For all this money.

SECOND PEASANT

And this money here ;
[ They bring handfuls of money from their pockets.

CATHLEEN starts Up]

And fearing much to hang for robbery,

We come to pay you for the sheep and fruit.

How do you price them ?

CATHLEEN

Gather up your money.
Think you that I would touch the demons' gold ?
Begone, give twice, thrice, twenty times their

money,
And buy again your souls. I will pay all.

FIRST PEASANT

Nay, for we go now to be drunk and merry.

[They go]
105

CATHLEEN [to SERVANT]

Follow and bring them here again — beseech them.

[The servant goes]

[To steward]
Steward, you know the secrets of this house.
How much have I in gold ?

STEWARD

A hundred thousand.

CATHLEEN

How much have I in castles ?

STEWARD
CATHLEEN

How much have I in pastures ?

As much more.

STEWARD

As much more.

CATHLEEN

How much have I in forests ?
106

STEWARD

As much more.

CATHLEEN

Keeping alone this house, sell all I have ;

Buy ships of grain and meal — long herds of cows,

And hasten here once more; and while you are

gone,
Bid some one give out gold to all who come.

STEWARD

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

CATHLEEN

Make no delay,
And bid them house here all the old and ailing.

[He goes]

[Re-enter servant]
How did you thrive ? Say quickly. You are pale ?

servant
When I came near, the tallest of the rogues
Said he 'd be no more stared at, and struck out.
107

CATHLEEN

Will no one bring them to me ?

SERVANT

No one dare.
Their eyes burn like the eyes of birds of prey
Now they are angry.

CATHLEEN

May God pity them !

SERVANT

I ran, for they have power not born of us.

CATHLEEN

O leave me now, and let no voice be raised,
Or foot tread heavily, or stringed instrument
Make a kind music : for my peace is dead.

[The servant goes out, and CATHLEENgoes over to
oona and lays her head upon her knees]

OONA

What, child, dear, did they talk so much about,
And whence came all the money ? — my deaf side.
108

Why, you are weeping — and such tears ! Such

tears !
Look, child, how big they are. Your shadow falls,
O Weeping Willow of the World, O Eri,
On this the loveliest daughter of your race,
Your leaves blow round her. I give God great

thanks
That I am old — lost in the sleep of age.

109

The great hall in the castle of the countess cathleen.
// is midnight^ and there is no one in the hall. The TWO
merchants enter, cautiously \ with empty bags over their
shoulders.

FIRST MERCHANT

And whence now, brother ?

SECOND MERCHANT

Tubber-vanach crossroads,
Where I in image of a nine-monthed bonyeen
Sat down upon my haunches. Father John
Came, sad and moody, murmuring many prayers.
I seemed as though I came from his own sty.
He saw the one brown ear — the breviary dropped —
He ran — I ran — I ran into the quarry ;
He fell a score of yards. The man was dead.
And then I thrust his soul into the bag,
And hurried home. His right hand, on the way —
The hand that blessed the poor and raised the
host —

110

Tore through the leather with sharp piety,
And he escaped me.

FIRST MERCHANT

With this priest John dead,
We shall be too much thronged with souls to-
morrow.

SECOND MERCHANT

My chosen venture was to kill this man,
And yours to rob the Countess. You fare ill.
I found you sitting drowsed and motionless,
Your chin bowed to your knees, while on all sides,
Bat-like, from bough, and roof, and window ledge,
Clung evil souls of men, and in the woods,
Like streaming flames, floated upon the winds
The elemental creatures.

FIRST MERCHANT

I fare ill !
This holy Countess prayed so long and hard,
That doors and windows barred with piety
Defied me and my drudges out of Hell.
Ill

But now she is fallen asleep over her prayers ;

[He points to the oratory door. They peer through
cautiously]
She lies worn out upon the altar steps :
A labourer, tired of ploughing His hard fields,
And deafening His closed ears with cries on cries
Hoping to draw His hands down from the stars
To take the people from us.

SECOND MERCHANT

We must hurry.
We should half stifle if she woke and prayed.

[They go out by the left-hand door, and enter
again in a little while, carrying full bags
upon their shoulders]

FIRST MERCHANT

Brave thought, brave thought — a shining thought

of mine !
She now no more may bribe the poor — no more
Cheat our great master of his merchandise,
While our heels dangle at the house in the woods,
And grass grows on the threshold, and snails crawl
112

Along the window-pane and the mud floor.
Brother, where wander all these dwarfish folk,
Hostile to men, the sheogues of the tides ?

second merchant [opening the great windows, and
showing the tops of the trees]

There are none here. They tired and strayed from

hence ;
Unwilling labourers.

FIRST MERCHANT.

I will draw them in.

[He cries through the window]
Come hither, hither, hither, water folk :
Come all you elemental populace ;
Leave lonely the long-hoarding surges : leave
The cymbals of the waves to clash alone,
And, shaking the sea tangles from your hair,
Gather about us. [After a pause]

I can hear a sound
As from waves beating upon distant strands ;
And now the sheogues, like a surf of light,
Pour eddying through the pathways of the oaks ;
113 h

And as they come, the sentient grass and leaves
Bow towards them, and the tall, drouth-jaded oaks
Fondle the murmur of their flying feet.

SECOND MERCHANT

The green things love unknotted hearts and minds ;
And neither one with angels or with us,
Nor risen in arms with evil or with good,
In laughter roves the litter of the waves.

[A crowd of faces fill up the darkness outside the
window. A sheogue separates from the others,
and standing in the window, speaks]

THE SHEOGUE

We come unwillingly, for she whose gold
We must now carry to the house in the woods
Is dear to all our race. On the green plain,
Beside the sea, a hundred shepherds live
To mind her sheep ; and when the nightfall comes
They leave a hundred pans of white ewes' milk
Outside their doors, to feed us on our way
From dancing with land sheogues in their raths,
Driven homeward by the dawn.
114

first merchant [making a sign upon the air]
Obey, or suffer.

THE SHEOGUE

The sign of evil burns upon our hearts,

And we obey.

[They crowd through the window, and take out of the
bags a small bag each. They are less tlian the
size of men and women, and are dressed in green
jackets, with red caps, trimmed with shells]

FIRST MERCHANT

And now begone — begone ! [They go]

I bid them go, for, being garrulous
And flighty creatures, they had soon begun
To deafen us with their sea gossip. Now
We must go bring more money. Brother, brother,
I long to see my master's face again,
For I turn homesick.

SECOND MERCHANT

I too tire of toil.
[ They go out, and return as before, with their bags full]
115

second merchant [pointitig to the oratory]

How may we gain this woman for our lord ?
This pearl, this turquoise fastened in his crown
Would make it shine like His we dare not name.
Now that the winds are heavy with our kind,
Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit
Before the mob of angels were astir ?
[A number of little bags fall from his big leather one]

FIRST MERCHANT

Who tore the bag ?

SECOND MERCHANT

The finger of priest John
When he fled through the leather. I had thought
Because his was an old and little spirit
The tear would hardly matter.

FIRST MERCHANT

This comes, brother
Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours.
If we would win this turquoise for our lord,
It must go dropping down of its freewill.

[He listens]
116

The noise wakened the household. While you

spoke
I heard chairs moved,, and heard folk's shuffling

feet.
We still have time — they search the distant rooms.
Call hither now the sowlths and thivishes.

second merchant [going to the window]

There are none here. They tired and strayed from

hence —
Unwilling labourers.

FIRST MERCHANT

I will draw them in.

[He cries through the window]
Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died
In drunken sleep, and by each other's hands,
When they had bartered you away to us
At Shemus Rua's : hither, thivishies,
Who mourn among the scenery of your sins,
Turning to animal and reptile forms,
The visages of passions : hither, sowlths ;
Leave marshes and the reed-encumbered pools,

117

You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men,
And are a fading wretchedness.

SECOND MERCHANT

They come not.

first merchant [making a sign upon the air]
Come hither, sowlths and thivishes.

SECOND MERCHANT

I hear
A crying as of storm-distempered reeds.
And now the sowlths and thivishes rise up
Like steam out of the earth ; the grass and leaves
Shiver and shrink away and sway about,
Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air.

FIRST MERCHANT

One are they with all forces of decay,

111 longings, madness, lightning, hail and drouth.

[The darkness Jills with vague forms, some animal
shapes, some human, some mere nebulous lights]

Come you — and you — and you, and lift these bags.
118

A THIVISH

We are too violent : mere shapes of storm.

FIRST MERCHANT

Come you — and you — and you, and lift these bags.

A SOWLTH

We are too feeble, fading out of life.

FIRST MERCHANT

Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,
And still wear human shape : the shape of power.
[The two robbing peasants of the last scene come

forward. Their faces have withered from

much pain]
Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.

FIRST PEASANT

Ay, ay !
Unwillingly, unwillingly ; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart. At moments, now and then,
119

When plunged in horror, brooding each alone,
A memory of her face floats in on us.
It brings a crowned misery, half repose,
And we wail one to other ; we obey,
For heaven's many-angled star reversed,
Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts.

FIRST MERCHANT

When these last bags lie at the house in the woods
The burning shall give over ; now begone.

[They go, and the forms and lights vanish also]
I bid them go, for they are lonely things,
And when they see aught living love to sigh.

[Pointing to the oratory]
Brother, I hear a sound in there — a sound
That troubles me.

second merchant [going to the door of the oratory and
peering through it]

Upon the altar steps
The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep
A broken paternoster.

120

[The first merchant goes to the door and stands
beside hint]

She 's grown still.

FIRST MERCHANT

A great plan floats into my mind — no wonder,
For I come from the ninth and mightiest Hell,
Where all are kings. I '11 wake her from her sleep,
And mix with all her thoughts, a thought to serve.

[He calls through the door]
May we be well remembered in your prayers !

[The countess cathleen wakes, and comes to the
door of the oratory. The merchants descend
into the room again. She stands at the top of
the stone steps]

cathleen
What would you, sirs ?

FIRST MERCHANT

We are two merchant men,
New come from foreign lands. We bring you news.
Forgive our sudden entry : the great door
Was open, we came in to seek a face.

121

CATHLEEN

The door stands always open to receive,
With kindly welcome, starved and sickly folk,
Or any who would fly the woful times.
Merchants, you bring me news.

FIRST MERCHANT

We saw a man
Heavy with sickness in the bog of Allan,
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
Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea.

CATHLEEN

My thanks to God, to Mary, and the angels,
I still have bags of money, and can buy
Meal from the merchants who have stored it up,
To prosper on the hunger of the poor.
You have been far, and know the signs of things :
When will this yellow vapour no more hang
And creep about the fields, and this great heat
Vanish away — and grass show its green shoots ?
122

FIRST MERCHANT

There is no sign of change — day copies day,
Green things are dead — the cattle too are dead,
Or dying — and on all the vapour hangs
And fattens with disease and glows with heat.
In you is all the hope of all the land.

CATHLEEN

And heard you of 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,
But 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 flames — their spirits — only
You bribe them with the safety of your gold.
123

CATHLEEN

Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels,
That I am wealthy. Wherefore do they sell ?
Is the green grave so terrible ?

FIRST MERCHANT

Some sell
Because they will not see their children die.
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.

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 lighted, and the strange weariness
That hangs about you vanished. When you told
How my poor money serves the people — both —
Merchants, forgive me — seemed to smile.
124

FIRST MERCHANT

Man's sins
Move us to laughter only, we have seen
So many lands and seen so many men.
How strange that all these people should be swung
As on a lady's shoe-string — under them
The glowing leagues of never-ending flame.

CATHLEEN

There 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 ?

[The second merchant, who has been listening at
the door to the right, comes forward, and as
he comes, a sound of voices and feet is heard
through the door to his left]

second merchant [aside to first merchant]

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

125

FIRST MERCHANT

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

[They go out to R]
[A number of peasants enter at the same moment by
the opposite door]

CATHLEEN

What would you ?

A PEASANT

As we nodded by the fire,
Telling old shannachus, we heard a noise
Of falling money. We have searched in vain.

CATHLEEN

You are too timid. I heard naught at all.

THE OLD PEASANT

Ay, we are timid, for a rich man's word
Can shake our houses, and a moon of drouth
Shrivel our seedlings in the barren earth ;
126

We are the slaves of wind, and hail, and flood ;
Fear jogs our elbow in the market-place,
And nods beside us on the chimney-seat.
Ill-bodings are as native to our hearts
As are their spots unto the woodpeckers.

CATHLEEN

You need not shake with bodings in this house.

[oona enters from the door to L.]

OONA

The treasure-room is broken in — mavrone — mavrone
The door stands open, and the gold is gone.

[ The peasants raise a lamenting cry\

CATHLEEN

Be silent. [The cry ceases]

Saw you any one ?

OONA

Mavrone,
That my good mistress should lose all this money.
127

CATHLEEN

You three upon my right hand, ride and ride ;
I'll give a farm to him who finds the thieves.

[A man with keys at his girdle has entered while
she was speaking]

A PEASANT

The porter trembles.

THE PORTER

It is all no use ;
Demons were here. I sat beside the door
In my stone niche, and two owls passed me by,
Whispering with human voices.

THE OLD PEASANT

God forsakes us.

CATHLEEN

Old man, old man, He never closed a door
Unless one opened. I am desolate,
For a most sad resolve wakes in my heart :
128

But always I have faith. Old men and women
Be silent ; 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
For its old, heavy, dull, and shapeless ease ;
At times it crumbles and a nation falls,
Now moves awry and demon hordes are born.

[The peasants cross themselves]
But leave me now, for I am desolate,
I hear a whisper from beyond the thunder.

[She steps down from the oratory door]
Yet stay an instant. When we meet again
I may have grown forgetful. Oona, take
These two — the larder and the dairy keys.

[To THE OLD PEASANT]

But take you this. It opens the small room
Of herbs for medicine, of hellebore,
Of vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal,
And all the others ; and the book of cures
Is on the upper shelf. You understand
Because you doctored goats and cattle once.
129 i

THE OLD PEASANT

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

CATHLEEN

Ah, no, not that,
A sad resolve wakes in me. I have heard
A sound of wailing in unnumbered hovels,
And I must go down, down, I know not where.
Pray for the poor folk who are crazed with famine ;
Pray, you good neighbours.

[The peasants all kneel. The 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]

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

130

ACT III

The cabin of shemus RUA. The two merchants are
sitting, one at each end of the table, with rolls of parchment
and many little heaps of gold before them.

FIRST MERCHANT

The woman may keep robbing us no more,
For there are only mice now in her coffers.

SECOND MERCHANT

Last night, closed in the image of an owl,

I hurried to the cliffs of Donegal,

And saw, creeping on the uneasy surge,

Those ships that bring the woman grain and meal ;

They are five days from us.

FIRST MERCHANT

I hurried East,
A gray owl flitting, flitting in the dew,
And saw nine hundred oxen toil through Meath,
Driven on by goads of iron ; they, too, brother,
Are full five days from us.
133

SECOND MERCHANT

Five days for traffic.
[While they have been speaking the peasants have
come in, led by teig and shemus, who take their
stations, one on each side of the door, and keep
them marshalled into rude order and encourage
them from time to time with gestures and
whispered words']
Here throng they; since the drouth they go in

throngs.
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.

A MIDDLED-AGED MAN

I come to deal if you give honest price.
134

first merchant [reading in a parchment]

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's something more writ here— often at night
He is wakeful from a dread of growing poor.
There is this crack in you — two hundred crowns.

[the man takes them and goes]

SECOND MERCHANT

Come, deal — one would half think you had no souls.
If only for the credit of your parishes,
Come, deal, deal, deal, or will you always starve ?
A woman lived here once, she would not deal —
She starved — she lies in there with red wall-flowers,
And candles stuck in bottles, round her head.
135

A WOMAN

What price, now, will you give for mine ?

FIRST MERCHANT

Ay, ay,
Soft, handsome, and still young — not much, I think.

[Reading in the parchment]
She has love letters in a little jar
On a high shelf between the pepper-pot
And wood-cased hour glass.

THE WOMAN

O, the scandalous parchment !

first merchant [reading]

She hides them from her husband, who buys

horses,
And is not much at home. You are almost safe.
I give you fifty crowns. [She turns to go]

A hundred, then.
[She takes them, and goes into the crowd]

Come — deal, deal, deal ; 'tis but for charity
We buy such souls at all ; a thousand sins
136

Made them our master's long before we came.
Come, deal — come, deal. You seem resolved to

starve
Until your bones show through your skin. Come

deal,
Or live on nettles, grass, and dandelion.
Or do you dream the famine will go by ?
The famine is hale and hearty ; it is mine
And my great master's ; it shall no wise cease
Until our purpose end : the yellow vapour
That brought it bears it over your dried fields
And fills with violent phantoms of the lost,
And grows more deadly as day copies day.
See how it dims the daylight. Is that peace
Known to the birds of prey so dread a thing ?
They, and the souls obedient to our master,
And those who live with that great other spirit
Have gained an end, a peace, while you but toss
And swing upon a moving balance beam.

[aleel enters, the wires of his harp are broken]

ALEEL

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

137

first merchant [reading]
A man of songs —
Alone in the hushed passion of romance,
His mind ran all on sheogues, and on tales
Of Fenian labours and the Red Branch kings,
And he cared nothing for the life of man :
But now all changes.

ALEEL

Ay, because her face,
The face of Countess Cathleen, dwells with me :
The sadness of the world upon her brow :
The crying of these strings grew burdensome,
Therefore I tore them — see — now take my soul.

FIRST MERCHANT

We cannot take your soul, for it is hers.

ALEEL

Ah, take it — take it. It nowise can help her,
And, therefore, do I tire of it.

FIRST MERCHANT.

No — no —
We may not touch it.

138

ALEEL

Is your power so small,
Must I then bear it with me all my days ?
May scorn close deep about you !

FIRST MERCHANT

Lead him hence ;
He troubles me.

[teig and shemus lead the young man 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 will have peace once more.

[The second merchant kisses the gold circlet that
is about the head of the first merchant]

SHEMUS

He is called Aleel,
And has been crazy now these many days ;
139

But has no harm in him : his fits soon pass,
And one can go and lead him like a child.

FIRST MERCHANT

Come, deal, deal, deal, deal, deal — are you all dumb ?

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 parchment, and reads]
There is but little set down here against her ;
She stole fowl sometimes when the harvest failed,
But always went to chapel twice a week,
And paid her dues when prosperous. Take your

money.

THE OLD PEASANT WOMAN \curtseying\

God bless you, sir. [She screams]

O, sir, a pain went through me.
140

FIRST MERCHANT

That name is like a fire to all damned souls.
Begone [she goes]. See how the red gold pieces

glitter.
Deal : do you fear because an old hag screamed ?
Are you all cowards ?

A PEASANT

Nay, I am no coward.
I will sell half my soul.

FIRST MERCHANT

How half your soul ?

THE PEASANT

Half of my chance of heaven.

FIRST MERCHANT

'Tis writ here
This man in all things takes the moderate course,
He sits on midmost of the balance beam,
And no man has had good of him or evil.
Begone, we will not buy you.
141

SECOND MERCHANT

Deal, come deal.

FIRST MERCHANT

What, will you keep us from our ancient home,
And from the eternal revelry ? Come, deal,
And we will hence to our great master again.
Come, deal, deal, deal.

THE PEASANTS SHOUT

The Countess Cathleen comes !

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.

FIRST MERCHANT

What matter, if the soul be worth the price ?
142

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 ;
And have the wretched spirits you have bought
For your gold crowns, released, and sent to God.
The soul that I would barter is my soul.

A PEASANT

Do not, do not, — the souls of us poor folk

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 spirits, while you speak,
Begin to labour upward, for your face
143

Sheds a great light on them and fills their hearts
With those unveilings of the fickle light,
Whereby our heavy labours have been marred
Since first His spirit moved upon the deeps
And stole them from us ; even before this day
The souls were but half ours, for your bright eyes
Had pierced them through and robbed them of

content.
But you must sign, for we omit no form
In buying a soul like yours ; 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 parch-
ment from her]
You shall yet know the love of some great chief,
And children gathering round your knees. Leave

you
The peasants to the builder of the heavens.

CATHLEEN

I have no thoughts : I hear a cry — a cry.
144

aleel [casting the parchment on the ground]

I had 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 the parchment and signs,
and 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

Now are our days of heavy labour done,

145 k

FIRST MERCHANT

We have a precious jewel for Satan's crown.

SECOND MERCHANT

We must away, and wait until she dies,
Sitting above her tower as twin gray owls,
Watching 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 came
I saw the dimness of the tomb in her,
And marked her walking as with leaden shoes
And looking on the ground as though the worms
Were calling her, and when she wrote her name
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
146

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 Sualtam'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.

[oona enters, but remains standing by the door, aleel
half rises, leaning upon one arm and one knee]
147

ALEEL

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

OONA

Where is the Countess Cathleen ? All this day
She has been pale and weakly : when her hand
Touched mine over the spindle her hand trembled,
And now I do not know where she has gone.

ALEEL

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

[He points downwards]
First, Orchil, her pale beautiful head alive,
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 o' 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
148

the room and points downwards 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 the world, 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; he is gazing down as if
through the earth. 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 the countess cathleen]

A PEASANT

We were under the tree where the path turns
When she grew pale as death and fainted away,
149

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]

OONA

Hush, hush, she has awakened from her swoon.

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]

A PEASANT

Hush.

ANOTHER PEASANT

Hush.

A PEASANT WOMAN

Hush.

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

Hush.

150

cathleen [half rising]
Lay all the bags of money at my feet.

[They lay the bags at her feet]
And send and bring old Neal when I am dead,
And bid him hear each man and judge and give :
He doctors you with herbs, and can best say
Who has the less and who the greater need.

a peasant woman [at the back of the crowd]
And will he give enough out of the bags
To keep my children till the dearth go by ?

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

0 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 :

1 gaze upon them as the swallow gazes
Upon the nest under the eave, before
He 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,

151

Who sang about the people of the raths,
That know not the hard burden of the world,
Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell !
And farewell Oona, who spun flax with me
Soft as their sleep when every dance is done :
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 the glass over the lips of the countess
cathleen. All is silent for a moment. And
then she speaks in a half scream]

O, she is dead.

A PEASANT WOMAN

She was the great white lily of the world.

ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN

She was more beautiful than the pale stars.
152

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN

The little plant I loved is broken in two.

[aleel takes the 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 gronm 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 by immediate thunder]

153

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 by immediate 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 everchanging light is sweeping above them
and behind than. 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
154

in formation of battle, and look downwards
with stern faces. The peasants cast them-
selves 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 here.

[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]
155

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 Jar-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]

156

THE LAND OF HEARTS DESIRE

To Miss Florence Farr

O Rose, thou art sick.

William Blake.

MAURTEEN BRUIN
SHAWN BRUIN
FATHER HART
MAIRE BRUIN
A FAERY CHILD

The scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County
of Sligo, and the time is the end of the Eighteenth Century. The
characters are supposed to speak in Gaelic.

The kitchen ^/"maurteen bruin's house. An open grate with
a turf fire is at the left side of the roo?n, with a table in front
of it. There is a door leading to the open air at the back,
and another door a little to its left, leading into an inner
room. There is a window \ a settle, and a large dresser on
the right side of the room, and a great bowl of primroses on
the sill of the window, maurteen bruin, father hart,
and BRIDGET BRUIN are sitting at the table. SHAWN BRUIN
is setting the table for supper, maire bruin sits on the
settle reading a yellow manuscript.

BRIDGET BRUIN

Because I bade her go and feed the calves,
She took that old book down out of the thatch
And has been doubled over it all day.
We would 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 bruin
You are too cross.

161 L

BRIDGET BRUIN

The young side with the young.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

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 BRUIN

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

FATHER HART

I never saw her read a book before ;
What may it be ?

MAURTEEN BRUIN

I do not rightly know :
It has been in the thatch for fifty years.
162

My father told me my grandfather wrote it,
Killed a red heifer and bound it with the hide.
But draw your chair this way — supper is spread ;
And little good he got out of the book,
Because it filled his house with roaming bards,
And roaming ballad-makers and the like,
And wasted all his goods. — Here is the wine :
The griddle bread 's beside you, Father Hart.
Colleen, what have you got there in the book
That you must leave the bread to cool ? Had I,
Or had my father, read or written books
There were no stocking full of silver and gold
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 ?

MAIRE BRUIN

How a Princess Edene,
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,
163

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 BRUIN

Persuade the colleen to put by the book :
My grandfather would mutter just such things,
And he was no judge of a dog or 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 from tears,
Who flattered Edene's heart with merry words.
164

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.

SHAWN BRUIN

Yet do not blame her greatly, Father Hart,
For she is dull while I am in the fields,
And mother's tongue were harder still to bear,
But for her fancies : this is May Eve too,
When the good people post about the world,
And surely one may think of them to-night.
Maire, have you the primroses to fling
Before the door to make a golden path
For them to bring good luck into the house.
Remember, they may steal new-married brides
After the fall of twilight on May Eve.

[maire bruin goes over to the window and takes
flowers from the bowl and strews them outside
the door]

165

FATHER HART

You do well, daughter, because God permits
Great power to the good people on May Eve.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

They can work all their will with primroses —
Change them to golden money, or little flames
To burn up those who do them any wrong.

MAIRE BRUIN

I had no sooner flung them by the door
Than the wind cried and hurried them away.

BRIDGET BRUIN

May God have mercy on us !

MAIRE BRUIN

The good people
Will not be lucky to the house this year,
But I am glad that I was courteous to them,
For are not they, likewise, children of God ?

FATHER HART

No, child ; they are the children of the fiend,
And they have power until the end of Time,
166

When God shall fight with them a great pitched

battle
And hack them into pieces.

MAIRE BRUIN

He will smile,
Father, perhaps, and open his great door,
And call the pretty and kind into his home.

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 knock at the door, maire bruin opens it and
then goes to the dresser and Jills a 'porringer
with milk and hands it through the door and
takes it back empty and closes the door]

MAIRE BRUIN

A little queer old woman cloaked in green,
Who came to beg a porringer of milk.
167

BRIDGET BRUIN

The good people go asking milk and fire
Upon May Eve — Woe on the house that gives
For they have power upon it for a year.
I knew you would bring evil on the house.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

Who was she ?

MAIRE BRUIN

Both the tongue and face were strange.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

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

BRIDGET BRUIN

I am afraid.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

The priest will keep all harm out of the house.

FATHER HART

The cross will keep all harm out of the house
While it hangs there.

168

MAURTEEN BRUIN

Come, sit beside me, colleen
And put away your dreams of discontent,
For I would have you light up my last days
Like a bright torch of pine, and when I die
I will make you the wealthiest hereabout :
For hid away where nobody can find
I have a stocking full of silver and gold.

BRIDGET BRUIN

You are the fool of every pretty face,

And I must pinch and pare that my son's wife

May have all kinds of ribbons for her head.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

Do not be cross ; she is a right good girl !
The butter 's 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,
The wise priest of our parish to our right,
And you and our dear son to left of us.
169

To sit beside the board and drink good wine
And 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 good-bye.

[A knock at the door, maire bruin opens it and
then takes a sod of turf out of the hearth in
the tongs and passes it through the door and
closes the door and remains standing by it]

MAIRE BRUIN

A little queer old man in a green coat,
Who asked a burning sod to light his pipe.

BRIDGET BRUIN

You have now given milk and fire, 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 you are a good-for-nothing wife.
170

SHAWN BRUIN

Be quiet, mother !

MAURTEEN BRUIN

You are much too cross !

MAIRE BRUIN

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 BRUIN

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.

MAIRE BRUIN

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 !
171

FATHER HART

You cannot know the meaning of your words

MAIRE BRUIN

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 comes over to her and leads her
to the settle]

SHAWN BRUIN

Do not blame me : I often lie awake
Thinking that all things trouble your bright head-
How beautiful it is — such broad pale brows
Under a cloudy blossoming of hair !
Sit down beside me here — these are too old,
And have forgotten they were ever young.

MAIRE BRUIN

O, you are the great door-post of this house,
And I, the red nasturtium, climbing up.

[She takes shawn' s hand, but looks shyly at
the priest and lets it go\
172

FATHER HART

Good daughter, take his hand — by love alone
God binds us to Himself and to the hearth
And shuts us from the waste beyond His peace,
From maddening freedom and bewildering light.

SHAWN BRUIN

Would that the world were mine to give it you
With every quiet hearth and barren waste,
The maddening freedom of its woods and tides,
And the bewildering light upon its hills.

MAIRE BRUIN

Then I would take and break it in my hands
To see you smile watching it crumble away.

SHAWN BRUIN

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.
173

MAIRE BRUIN

Your looks are all the candles that I need.

SHAWN BRUIN

Once a fly dancing in a beam o' 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 ; and sun and moon
Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll ;
But your white spirit still walk by my spirit.

[A voice sings in the distance]

MAIRE BRUIN

Did you hear something call ? O, guard me close,
Because I have said wicked things to-night.

a voice [close to the door]
The wind blo?vs 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,
174

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 must wither away ! '

MAURTEEN BRUIN

I am right happy, and would make all else
Be happy too. I hear a child outside,
And will go bring her in out of the cold.

[He opens the door. A child dressed in a green
jacket and a red cap comes into the house]

THE CHILD

I tire of winds and waters and pale lights !

MAURTEEN BRUIN

You are most welcome. It is cold out there ;
Who'd think to face such cold on a May Eve.
175

THE CHILD

And when I tire of this warm little house,

There is one here who must away, away,

To where the woods, the stars, and the white

streams
Are holding a continual festival.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

0 listen to her dreamy and strange talk.
Come to the fire.

THE CHILD

I'll sit upon your knee,
For I have run from where the winds are born,
And long to rest my feet a little while.

[She sits upon his knee]

BRIDGET BRUIN

How pretty you are !

MAURTEEN BRUIN
I

Your hair is wet with dew !

BRIDGET BRUIN

1 '11 warm your chilly feet.

[She takes the child's feet in her hands]
176

MAURTEEN BRUIN

You must have come
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

They are both nasty.
Old mother, have you nothing nice for me ?

BRIDGET BRUIN

I have some honey !

[She goes into the next room]

MAURTEEN BRUIN

You are a dear child ;
The mother was quite cross before you came.

[bridget returns with tlie honey, and goes to the
dresser and Jills a porringer with milk]

BRIDGET BRUIN

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 awhile,

177 m

And I will put it by the fire to warm,
For things well fitted for poor folk like us
Would never please a high-born child like you.

THE CHILD

Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn
Brightens above while you blow up the fire ;
And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you work on because your heart is old.

BRIDGET BRUIN

The young are idle.

THE CHILD

Old father, you are wise
And all the years have gathered in your heart
To whisper of the wonders that are gone.
The young must sigh through many a dream and

hope,
But you are wise because your heart is old.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

O, who would think to find so young a child
Loving old age and wisdom.

[bridget gives her more bread and honey \
178

THE CHILD

No more, mother.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

What a small bite ! The milk is ready now ;
What a small sip !

THE CHILD

Put on my shoes, old mother,
For I would like to dance now I have dined.
The reeds are dancing by Coolaney lake,
And I would like to dance until the reeds
And the white waves have danced themselves to
sleep.

[bridget having put on her shoes, she gets off the
old mans knees and is about to dance, but
suddenly sees tlie 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 !
179

BRIDGET BRUIN

I have begun to be afraid, again !

THE CHILD

Hide it away !

MAURTEEN BRUIN

That would be wickedness !

BRIDGET BRUIN

That would be sacrilege !

THE CHILD

The tortured thing !
Hide it away !

MAURTEEN BRUIN

Her parents are to blame.

FATHER HART

That is the image of the Son of God.

[the child puts her arm round his neck and
kisses him~\

the child
Hide it away ! Hide it away !
180

MAURTEEN BRUIN

No ! no !

FATHER HART

Because you are so young and little a child
I will go take it down.

THE CHILD

Hide it away,
And cover it out of sight and out of mind.

[father hart takes it down and carries it towards
the inner room]

FATHER HART

Since you have come into this barony
I will instruct you in our blessed faith :
Being a clever child you will soon learn.

[To the others]
We must be tender with all budding things,
Our Maker let no thought of Calvary
Trouble the morning stars in their first song.

[Puts the crucifix in the inner room]

THE CHILD

O, what a nice, smooth floor to dance upon !
The wind is blowing on the waving reeds
181

The wind is blowing on the heart of man.

[She dances, swaying about like the reeds]

MAIRE [tO SHAWN BRUIN]

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 time.

SHAWN BRUIN

I heard no step but hers.

MAIRE BRUIN

Look to the bolt !
Because the unholy powers are abroad.

MAURTEEN BRUIN [to the CHILD]

Come over here, and if you promise me
Not to talk wickedly of holy things
I '11 give you something.

THE CHILD

Bring it me, old father !
[maurteen bruin goes into the next rooni]

182

FATHER HART

I will have queen cakes when you come to me !

[maurteen bruin returns and lays a piece of money
on the table. The child makes a gesture of
refusal]

MAURTEEN BRUIN

It will buy lots of toys ; see how it glitters !

the child
Come, tell me, do you love me ?

MAURTEEN BRUIN

I love you !

THE CHILD

Ah ! but you love this fireside !

FATHER HART

I love you.

THE CHILD

But you love Him above.

BRIDGET BRUIN

She is blaspheming.
183

THE CHILD [to MAIRe]

And do you likewise love me ?

MAIRE BRUIN

I don't know.

THE CHILD

You love that great tall fellow over 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 !

MAIRE BRUIN

Queen of the Angels and kind Saints defend us !
Some dreadful fate has fallen : a while ago
The wind cried out and took the primroses,
And I gave milk and fire, and when she came
She made you hide the blessed crucifix ;
She wears, too, the green jacket and red cap
Of the unholy creatures of the Raths.

FATHER HART

You fear because of her wild, pretty prattle ;
She knows no better.

[To the child]
Child, how old are you ?

184

THE CHILD

My own dear people live a long, long time,
So I am young ; but measure by your years
And I am older than the eagle cock
Who blinks and blinks on Ballygawley Hill,
And he is the oldest thing under the moon.
At times I merely care to dance and dance,
At times grow wiser than the eagle cock.

FATHER HART

What are you ?

THE CHILD

I am of the faery people.
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,
And then I heard one call to me and came.

[They all except maire bruin gather about the

priest for protection, maire bruin slays

on the settle in a stupor of terror. The

child takes primroses from the great

bowl and begins to strew them between

herself and the priest and about maire

bruin. During the following dialogue

shawn bruin goes more than once to the
185

brink of the primroses, but shrinks back to the
others timidly]

FATHER HART

I will confront this mighty spirit alone.

{They cling to him and hold him bade]

the child [while she strews the primroses]
No one whose heart is heavy with human tears
Can cross these little cressets of the wood.

FATHER HART

Be not afraid, the Father is with us,
And all the nine angelic hierarchies,
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 Mary with her seven times wounded heart.

[The child ceases strewing the primroses, and

kneels upon the settle beside maire and puts

her arms about her neck]
Cry, daughter, to the Angels and the Saints.

THE CHILD

You shall go with me, newly-married bride,
And gaze upon a merrier multitude :
186

White-armed Nuala and Ardroe the Wise,
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.

FATHER HART

Daughter, I call you unto home and love !

THE CHILD

Stay, and come with me, newly-married bride,
For, if you hear him, you grow like the rest :
Bear children, cook, be mindful of the churn,
And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs,
And sit at last there, old and bitter of tongue,
Watching the white stars war upon your hopes.

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,
187

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 only true to the far lights
We follow singing, over valley and hill.

FATHER HART

By the dear name of the one crucified,
I bid you, Maire Bruin, come to me.

THE CHILD

I keep you in the name of your own heart !

[She leaves the settle, and stooping takes up a
?nass of primroses and kisses them]
We have great power to-night, dear golden folk,
For he took down and hid the crucifix.
And my invisible brethren fill the house ;
I hear their footsteps going up and down.
O, they shall soon rule all the hearts of men
And own all lands ; last night they merrily danced
About his chapel belfry ! (To maire) Come away,
I hear my brethren bidding us away !
188

FATHER HART

I will go fetch the crucifix again.

[They hang about him in terror and prevent him
from moving]

BRIDGET BRUIN

The enchanted flowers will kill us if you go.

MAURTEEN BRUIN

They turn the flowers to little twisted flames.

SHAWN BRUIN

The little twisted flames burn up the heart.

THE CHILD

I hear them crying, ' Newly-married bride,

' Come to the woods and waters and pale lights.'

MAIRE BRUIN

I will go with you.

FATHER HART

She is lost, alas !

the child [standing by the doorj
Then, follow : but the heavy body of clay
And clinging mortal hope must fall from you
189

For we who ride the winds, run on the waves.
And dance upon the mountains, are more light
Than dewdrops on the banners of the dawn.

MAIRE BRUIN

Then take my soul.

[shawn bruin goes over to her]

SHAWN BRUIN

Beloved, do not leave me !
Remember when I met you by the well
And took your hand in mine and spoke of love.

MAIRE BRUIN

Dear face ! Dear voice !

THE CHILD

Come, newly-married bride !

MAIRE BRUIN

I always loved her world — and yet — and yet —

[Sinks into his arms]
190

the child [from the door]
White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird !

MAIRE BRUIN

She calls my soul !

THE CHILD

Come with me, little bird !

MAIRE BRUIN

I can hear songs and dancing !

SHAWN BRUIN

Stay with me !

MAIRE BRUIN

I think that I would stay — and yet — and yet —

THE CHILD

Come, little bird with crest of gold !

maire bruin [very softly]

And yet —
191

THE CHILD

Come, little bird with silver feet !

[Maire dies, and the child goes]

SHAWN BRUIN

Dead, dead !

FATHER HART

Thus do the evil spirits 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.

a voice sings outside —
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,
192

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,

1 The lonely of heart must wither away.'

[The song is taken up by many voices, who sing
loudly, as if in triumph. Some- of the
voices seem to come from within the
house]

193

THE ROSE

To Lionel Johnson

Sero te amavi, Pmchrittido tarn antiqua et tarn nova ! Sero te amavi.'

S. Augustine.

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 :

Cuhoollin 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 mans 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 t fie Id mouse running by me in the grass,
197

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 Eri and the ancient ways :
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days

198

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,
199

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 maiden loves me, no man seeks my help,
Because I be not of the things I dream.
200

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 thing !

201

THE DEATH OF CUHOOLLIN

A man came slowly from the setting sun,
To Emer of Borda, in her clay-piled dun,
And found her dyeing cloth with subtle care,
And said, casting aside his draggled hair :
' I am Aleel, the swineherd, whom you bid
1 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 :
f Not any god alive, nor mortal dead,
• Has slain so mighty armies, so great kings,
' Nor won the gold that now Cuhoollin brings.'

' Why do you tremble thus from feet to crown ?

Aleel, the swineherd, wept and cast him down

202

Upon the web-heaped floor, and thus his word :

• With him is one sweet throated like a bird,
1 And lovelier than the moon upon the sea ;

' He made for her an army cease to be/

'Who bade you tell these things? ' and then she

cried
To those about, ' Beat him with thongs of hide
1 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 flock and herds/

' I have long waited, mother, for those words ;
1 But wherefore now ? '

1 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/

1 Nay, you are taller than Cuhoollin, son.'

• He is the mightiest man in ship or dun/

203

' Nay, he is old and sad with many wars,
1 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 ;

1 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 Cuhoollin 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.
204

At last Cuhoollin spake, ' A young man strays
' Driving the deer along the woody ways.
1 1 often hear him singing to and fro,
' 1 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.'

1 1 only of the Red Branch hosted now/
Cuhoollin 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,

1 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.'

205

Again the fighting sped,
But now the war rage in Cuhoollin woke,
And through the others shield his long blade broke,
And pierced him.

' Speak before your breath is done/

' I am Finmole, mighty Cuhoollin 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 Cuhoollin 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, ' Cuhoollin will dwell there and brood,
' For three days more in dreadful quietude,
1 And then arise, and raving slay us all.
' Go, cast on him delusions magical,
' That he may fight the waves of the loud sea/
And ten by ten under a quicken tree,
206

The Druids chaunted, swaying in their hands
Tall wands of alder and white quicken wands.

In three days time, Cuhoollin 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.

207

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.
208

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.

209 o

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,
210

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 tfieir sad liearts, 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.

211

A FAERY SONG

Sung by the faeries over the outlaw Michael Dwyer and his
bride, who had escaped into the mountains

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 it us then :

Us who are old, old and gay :

O so old !
Thousands of years, thousands of years,

If all were told.
212

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.
213

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

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

214

A CRADLE SONG

' Cotk yani me von gilli beg,
' *N heur ve thu more a creena. '

The angels are bending
Above your white bed ;

They weary of tending
The souls of the dead.

God smiles in high heaven

To see you so good ;
The old planets seven

Grow gay with His mood.

I kiss you and kiss you,

With arms round my own ;

Ah, how shall I miss you,

When, dear, you have grown.
215

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.

216

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 sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden 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.

217

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 with 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 sad, From us fled hove ;
He paced upon the mountains far above,

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

218

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 !
219

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 !

220

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,
And, wondering, planted by her solitude

A cypress and a yew :
I came, and wrote upon a cross of wood,

Man had no more to do :
She was more beautiful than thy first love,

This lady by the trees :
And gazed upon the mournful stars above,

And heard the mournful breeze.

221

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 shadows 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.

222

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.

As he went 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 ;
223

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.
224

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.

225

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 Eri ;
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 Eri's good to-morrow !
Ah, world-wide 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 Eri,

The willow of the many-sorrowed world.
226

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.

227

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.

228

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 ! '

And then, half-lying on the chair,
He knelt, prayed, fell asleep ;

And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.
229

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.

1 He died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan

In grief swayed to and fro.
230

' When you were gone, he turned and died,

• As merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan

He knelt him at that word.

1 He who hath made the night of stars
1 For souls, who tire and bleed,

e Sent one of His great angels down
1 To help me in my need.

' He who is wrapped in purple robes,

1 With planets in His care,
' Had pity on the least of things

■ Asleep upon a chair.'

231

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,
232

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.

233

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.
234

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 mans 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 I

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
235

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.

236

CROSSWAYS

To A. E.

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

William Blake.

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
239

Only a sudden flaming word,

In clanging space a moment heard,

Troubling the endless reverie.

Then no wise 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,
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth,
240

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.

1885.

241

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 I
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.
242

And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell
And thought, / 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 otvn 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.

1885.

243

THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES

c 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.'

8 What do you build with sails for flight ? '

' I build a boat for Sorrow,

1 O, swift on the seas all day and night
* Saileth the rover Sorrow,

f All day and night.'

' What do you weave with wool so white ? '

' I weave the shoes of Sorrow,

1 Soundless shall be the footfall light

' In all men's ears of Sorrow,
f Sudden and light.'
244

ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA

A little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Around it a garden;
around that again the forest. ANASHUYA, the young priestess >
kneeling within.

ANASHUYA

Send peace on all the lands and nickering 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.

245

ANASHUYA

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

VIJAYA

I will wait here, Amrita.
S

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, 0 you little stars ! 0, sigh and shake your blue
apparel !
The sad, sad thought has gone from me now
wholly :
Sing, O you little stars! 0 sing, and raise your rap-
turous carol

246

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, with a sumptuous smile,
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.
24,7

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 [si7lgs]

Sing you of her, 0 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 ;
248

And in the naming forests cower the liori
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 with 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.

249

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 heard the unforgiving hound*.
Swear !

VIJAYA

By the parents of the gods, I swear.

ANASHUYA [si?lgs]

I have forgiven, 0 new star 1
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,

250

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 Pitri's fidget finger
Trouble his sleeping : give him dreams of me.

1887.

251

THE INDIAN UPON GOD

I passed along the waters 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 liangeth on a

stalk,

252

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 tfie 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.

[886.

253

•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 dim 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 gently how far off are the unquiet
lands :

How we alone of mortals are

Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the glimmering tide, the wings that
glimmer and gleam and dart ;
254

The great boughs, and the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days :

How when we die our shades will rove,
Where eve has hushed the feathered ways,
And drop a vapoury footfall in the water's drowsy
blaze.

1886.

255

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.

256

EPHEMERA

' Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
1 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 :
1 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 :
1 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
257 R

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 :
1 Hate on and love through unrepining hours ;
1 Before us lies eternity ; our souls
1 Are love, and a continual farewell/

258

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,
1 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.
259

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 of 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 :
And with loud singing I rushed on

Over the heath and spungy fen,
And broke between my hands the staff
Of my long spear with song and laugh,
That down the echoing valleys rolled.
They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the

beech leaves old.

260

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,
261

And bore it to the woods with me ;
Of some unhuman misery
Our married voices 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.

262

THE STOLEN CHILD

Where dips the rocky highland

Of Slewth 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, 0 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,
263

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, 0 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.
264

Come away, 0 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 '11 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 and hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can under-
stand.

265

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.
266

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.

267

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.
268

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.

269

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.
270

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 ;
271

Keening from Inishmurray,
Nor stayed for bite or sup ;

This way were all reproved
Who dig old customs up.

272

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.

273 s

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.

274

She drew from me my story —

My money 's all used up,
And still, with pitying 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 roe ;

But gather with your shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.
275

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
1 My Dermot dear and brown,

' And lead him gently in a ring,
1 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.
276

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.'
1 1 cannot blow upon my horn,

' I can but weep and sigh.'

277

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.

278

GLOSSARY

Adene. — Adene was a famous legendary queen who went away
and lived among the Shee.

Aed. — A God of death. All who hear his harp playing die. He
was one of the two gods who appeared to Cuhoollin before his
death, according to the bardic tale.

Angus.— The god of youth, beauty, and poetry. He reigned in
Tir-nan-Oge, the country of the young.

Ardroe.—A Ballyshannon faery ruler.

The Ballad of Father Gilligan. — A tradition among the people
of Castleisland, Kerry.

The Ballad of Father G 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 in-
teresting History of Ballisodare and Kilvarnet. The robbery of
the lands of Father O'Hart was one of those incidents which
occurred sometimes though but rarely during the penal laws.
Catholics, who were 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 the Foxhunter. — Founded on an incident, pro-
bably itself a Tipperary tradition, in Kickham's Knocknagow.

Balor. — The Irish Chimaera, the leader of the hosts of darkness
at the great battle of good and evil, life and death, light and
darkness, which was fought out on the strands of Moytura, near
Sligo.

281

Barach. — Barach enticed Fergus away to a feast, that the sons of
Usna might be killed in his absence. Fergus had made an oath
never to refuse a feast from him, and so was compelled to go,
though all unwillingly.

Bell-branch. — A legendary branch whose shaking cast all men
into a gentle sleep.

Blanid. — The heroine of a beautiful and sad story told by
Keating.

Bonyeen.—K little pig.

Cailitin. — The Druid Cailitin and his sons warred upon Cu-
hoollin with magical arts.

Cann. — A kind of chieftain.

Clauber.—A Sligo word for clinging mud.

Conan. — The Thersites of the Fenian cycle.

Conhor or Concobar. — He was King of all Ireland in the time of
the Red Branch kings.

The Countess Cathleen. —The writer included the legend on which
this poem is founded in his Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish
Peasantry, under the belief that it was indigenous Irish folklore :
he has since heard that it is of recent introduction. The editor of
Folklore has kindly printed an advertisement asking for information
as to variants, origin, etc.

Cuhoollin. — The great hero of the Red Branch cycle.

Danaan. — See Tuath De Danaan.

The Death of Cuhoollin.— Founded upon a story given by Mr.
Curtin in his Myths and Folklore of Ireland. The bardic tradi-
tion is very different.

Dectera. — The mother of Cuhoollin.

Deirdre.— The heroine of the most tender of old Gaelic stories.
She was loved by Concobar, but fled from him with Naisi, only to
be recaptured by treachery. She is the sad and beautiful woman
of the Red Branch cycle, just as Grania is the sad and beautiful
woman of the Fenian cycle.

282

Down by the Salley Gardens.— An extension of three lines sung
to me by an old woman at Ballisodare.

Emen. — The capital of the Red Branch kings.

Feacra. — A sea faery.

The Fenians. — The great military order of which Finn was chief.

Fergus.— He was the poet of the Red Branch cycle, as Usheen
was of the Fenian. He was once King of all Ireland, but gave up
his throne that he might live at peace hunting in the woods.

Findrinny. — A kind of red bronze.

Finvarra.— The king of the faeries of Connaught.

Firtolg.— An early race who warred vainly upon the Fomorians,
or Fomoroh, before the coming of the Tuath De Danaan. Certain
Firbolg kings, killed at Southern Moytura, are supposed to be
buried at Ballisodare. It is by their graves that Usheen and his
companions rode.

Fomoroh. — Fomoroh means from under the sea, and is the
name of the gods of night and death and cold. The Fomoroh
were misshapen and had now the heads of goats and bulls, and
now but one leg, and one arm that came out of the middle of their
breasts. They were the ancestors of the evil faeries and, according
to one Gaelic writer, of all misshapen persons. The giants and the
leprecauns are expressly mentioned as of the Fomoroh.

Gavra. — The great battle in which the power of the Fenians was
broken.

Grania. — A beautiful woman, who fled with Dermot to escape
from the love of aged Finn. She fled from place to place over
Ireland, but at last Dermot was killed at Sligo upon the seaward
point of Benbulben, and Finn won her love and brought her, lean-
ing upon his neck, into the assembly of the Fenians, who burst into
inextinguishable laughter.

Heber.—Heber and Heremon were the ancestors of the merely
human inhabitants of Ireland.

BeH.— In the older Irish books Hell is always cold, and this is
probably because the Fomoroh, or evil powers ruled over the

283

north and the winter. Christianity adopted as far as possible the
Pagan symbolism in Ireland as elsewhere, and Irish poets, when
they became Christian, did not cease to speak of ' the cold flag-
stone of Hell.' The folk-tales, and Keating in his description
of Hell, make use, however, of the ordinary fire symbolism.

Kama. — The Indian Eros.

The Lamentation of the Pensioner. — This poem is little more
than a translation into verse of the very words of an old Wicklow
peasant.

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.

Mac Nessa.— Concobar-Mac-Nessa, Concobar the son of Nessa.

The Madness of King Goll.—ln the legend King Goll hid
himself in a valley near Cork, where it is said all the madmen in
Ireland would gather were they free, so mighty a spell did he cast
over that valley.

Maive. — A famous queen of the Red Branch cycle. She is
rumoured to be buried under the cairn on Knocknarea. Ferguson
speaks of * the shell-heaped cairn of Maive high up on haunted
Knocknarea,' but inaccurately, for the cairn is of stones.

Mananan. — Mananan, the sea-god, was a son of Lir, the infinite
waters.

The Meditation of the old Fisherman.— This poem is founded
upon some things a fisherman said to me when out fishing in
Sligo Bay.

Naisi.— The lover of Deirdre. He was treacherously killed by
Concobar.

Northern Cold. — The Fomoroh, the powers of death and dark-
ness and cold and evil, came from the north.

Nuala. — The wife of Finvarra.

284

Orchil. — A Fomorian sorceress.

Pooka. — A spirit which takes the form now of a dog, now of a
horse, now of an ass, now of an eagle.

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.

Salley. — Willow.

Seven Hazel-trees. — There was once a well overshadowed by
seven sacred hazel-trees, in the midst of Ireland. A certain lady
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 sevenfold.

Shannachus. — A Gaelic word for stories, which is common even
among the English-speaking peasantry.

Skee. — The Shee are the faery people. The word is said to
mean also the wind.

Sheogue. — A diminutive of Shee, meaning a little faery
Sowlth.—A formless, luminous phantom.
Sualtam.— The father of Cuhoollin.
Thivish. — An earth-bound and earth-wandering ghost.

Tuath De Danaan. — Tuath De Danaan means the Race of the
Gods of Dana. Dana was the mother of all the ancient gods of
Ireland. They were the powers of light and life and warmth, and
did battle with the Fomoroh, or powers of night and death and
cold. Robbed of offerings and honour, they have gradually
dwindled in the popular imagination until they have become the
Faeries.

Usna. — The father of Naisi, the lover, and Ardan and Anly, the
friends of Deirdre. Deirdre's beautiful lament over their bodies has
been finely translated by Sir Samuel Ferguson.

U sheen. — The poet of the Fenian cycle of legend, as Fergus was
the poet of the Red Branch cycle.

285

The Wanderings of U sheen. — This poem is founded upon the
middle Irish dialogues of St. Patrick 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 particular century ;
it therefore, like the later Fenian stories themselves, mixes much
that is mediaeval with other matters that are ancient. The Gaelic
poems do not make Usheen go to more than one island, but
tradition speaks of three islands. A story in The 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.
Another tradition, which puts one of the paradises under the sea, is
perhaps a memory of the fabled kingdom of the shadowy Fomoroh,
whose name proves that they came from the great waters.

White Birds. — The birds of faeryland are said to be white as
snow.

Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

BY THE SAME WRITER

THE CELTIC TWILIGHT : Essays.
JOHN SHERMAN AND DHOYA : Stories.

7M