| ‘A sword-blade pierced me in my sleep.’ |
| And now they all wheel suddenly and fly |
| To the other side, and
higher in the air. |
| And now a laggard with a woman’s head |
| Comes crying, ‘I have run upon the sword. |
| I
have fled to my beloved in the air, |
| In the waste of the high air, that we may wander |
| Among the windy
meadows of the dawn.’ |
| But why are they still waiting? why are they |
| Circling and circling over the masthead? |
| What
power that is more mighty than desire |
| To hurry to their hidden happiness |
| Withholds them now?
Have the Ever-living Ones |
| A meaning in that circling overhead? |
| But what’s the meaning? [He cries out.]
Why do you linger there? |
| Why linger? Run to your desire, |
| Are you not happy wingèd bodies now? |
| [His
voice sinks again.] |
|
|
|
|
| Being too busy in the air and the high air, |
| They cannot hear my voice; but what’s the
meaning? |
| [The Sailors have returned. Dectora is with them.] |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael [turning and seeing her]. Why are
you standing with your eyes upon me? |
| You are not the world’s core. O no, no, no! |
| That cannot be the
meaning of the birds. |
| You are not its core. My teeth are in the world, |
| But have not bitten yet. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora.
I am a queen, |
| And ask for satisfaction upon these |
| Who have slain my husband and laid hands upon
me. |
| [Breaking loose from the Sailors who are holding her.] |
|
|
|
|
| Let go my hands! |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Why do you
cast a shadow? |
| Where do you come from? Who brought you to this place? |
| They would not send me
one that casts a shadow. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. Would that the storm that overthrew my ships, |
| And drowned the
treasures of nine conquered nations, |
| And blew me hither to my lasting sorrow, |
| Had drowned me also.
But, being yet alive, |
| I ask a fitting punishment for all |
| That raised their hands against him. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael.
There are some |
| That weigh and measure all in these waste seas— |
| They that have all the wisdom that’s
in life, |
| And all that prophesying images |
| Made of dim gold rave out in secret tombs; |
| They have it that the
plans of kings and queens |
| Are dust on the moth’s wing; that nothing matters |
| But laughter and tears—laughter,
laughter, and tears; |
| That every man should carry his own soul |
| Upon his shoulders. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora.
You’ve nothing but wild words, |
| And I would know if you will give me vengeance. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. When she
finds out I will not let her go— |
| When she knows that. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. What is it that you are muttering— |
| That
you’ll not let me go? I am a queen. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Although you are more beautiful than any, |
| I almost
long that it were possible; |
| But if I were to put you on that ship, |
| With sailors that were sworn to do your
will, |
| And you had spread a sail for home, a wind |
| Would rise of a sudden, or a wave so huge, |
| It had
washed among the stars and put them out, |
| And beat the bulwark of your ship on mine, |
| Until you stood
before me on the deck— |
| As now. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. Does wandering in these desolate seas |
| And listening to
the cry of wind and wave |
| Bring madness? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Queen, I am not mad. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. Yet say |
| That
unimaginable storms of wind and wave |
| Would rise against me. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. No, I am not mad— |
| If it be
not that hearing messages |
| From lasting watchers, that outlive the moon, |
| At the most quiet midnight
is to be stricken. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. And did those watchers bid you take me captive? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Both you and
I are taken in the net. |
| It was their hands that plucked the winds awake |
| And blew you hither; and their
mouths have promised |
| I shall have love in their immortal fashion; |
| And for this end they gave me my old
harp |
| That is more mighty than the sun and moon, |
| Or than the shivering casting-net of the stars, |
| That
none might take you from me. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora [first trembling back from the mast where the harp is, and then
laughing]. For a moment |
| Your raving of a message and a harp |
| More mighty than the stars half troubled
me, |
| But all that’s raving. Who is there can compel |
| The daughter and the granddaughter of kings |
| To be
his bedfellow? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Until your lips |
| Have called me their beloved, I’ll not kiss them. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. My
husband and my king died at my feet, |
| And yet you talk of love. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. The movement of time |
| Is
shaken in these seas, and what one does |
| One moment has no might upon the moment |
| That follows
after. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. I understand you now. |
| You have a Druid craft of wicked sound |
| Wrung from the cold
women of the sea— |
| A magic that can call a demon up, |
| Until my body give you kiss for kiss. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael.
Your soul shall give the kiss. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. I am not afraid, |
| While there’s a rope to run into a noose |
| Or
wave to drown. But I have done with words, |
| And I would have you look into my face |
| And know that it
is fearless. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Do what you will, |
| For neither I nor you can break a mesh |
| Of the great golden
net that is about us. |
|
|
| No, I am not mad— |
| If it be not that hearing messages |
| From lasting watchers,
that outlive the moon, |
| At the most quiet midnight is to be stricken. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. And did those watchers bid
you take me captive? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Both you and I are taken in the net. |
| It was their hands that plucked the
winds awake |
| And blew you hither; and their mouths have promised |
| I shall have love |
|
|
| Dectora. There’s
nothing in the world that’s worth a fear. |
| [She passes Forgael and stands for a moment looking into his
face.] |
|
|
|
|
| I have good reason for that thought. |
| [She runs suddenly on to the raised part of the poop.] |
|
|
|
|
| And
now |
| I can put fear away as a queen should. |
| [She mounts on to the bulwark and turns towards Forgael.] |
|
|
|
|
