| brief longing and deceiving hope |
| And bodily tenderness, and finds that even |
| The bed of love, that in the imagination |
| Had seemed to be the giver of all peace, |
| Is no more than a wine-cup in the tasting, |
| And as soon finished. |
| Aibric. All that ever loved |
| Have loved that way—there is no other way. |
| Forgael. Yet never have two lovers kissed but they |
| Believed there was some other near at hand, |
| And almost wept because they could not find it. |
| Aibric. When they have twenty years; in middle life |
| They take a kiss for what a kiss is worth, |
| And let the dream go by. |
| Forgael. It’s not a dream, |
| But the reality that makes our passion |
| As a lamp shadow—no—no lamp, the sun. |
| What the world’s million lips are thirsting for |
| Must be substantial somewhere. |
| Aibric. I have heard the Druids |
| Mutter such things as they awake from trance. |
| It may be that the Ever-living know it— |
| No mortal can. |
| Forgael. Yes; if they give us help. |
| Aibric. They are besotting you as they besot |
| The crazy herdsman that will tell his fellows |
| That he has been all night upon the hills, |
| Riding to hurley, or in the battle-host |
| With the Ever-living. |
| Forgael. What if he speak the truth, |
| And for a dozen hours have been a part |
| Of that more powerful life? |
| Aibric. His wife knows better. |
| Has she not seen him lying like a log, |
| Or fumbling in a dream about the house? |
| And if she hear him mutter of wild riders, |
| She knows that it was but the cart-horse coughing |
| That set him to the fancy. |
| Forgael. All would be well |
| Could we but give us wholly to the dreams, |
| And get into their world that to the sense |
| Is shadow, and not linger wretchedly |
| Among substantial things; for it is dreams |
| That lift us to the flowing, changing world |
| That the heart longs for. What is love itself, |
| Even though it be the lightest of light love, |
| But dreams that hurry from beyond the world |
| To make low laughter more than meat and drink, |
| Though it but set us sighing? Fellow-wanderer, |
| Could we but mix ourselves into a dream, |
| Not in its image on the mirror! |
| Aibric. While |
| We’re in the body that’s impossible. |
| Forgael. And yet I cannot think they’re leading me |
| To death; for they that promised to me love |
| As those that can outlive the moon have known it, |
| Had the world’s total life gathered up, it seemed, |
| Into their shining limbs—I’ve had great teachers. |
| Aengus and Edain ran up out of the wave— |
| You’d never doubt that it was life they promised |
| Had you looked on them face to face as I did, |
| With so red lips, and running on such feet, |
| And having such wide-open, shining eyes. |
| Aibric. It’s certain they are leading you to death. |
| None but the dead, or those that never lived, |
| Can know that ecstasy. Forgael! Forgael! |
| They have made you follow the man-headed birds, |
| And you have told me that their journey lies |
| Towards the country of the dead. |
| Forgael. What matter |
| If I am going to my death?—for there, |
| Or somewhere, I shall find the love they have promised. |
| That much is certain. I shall find a woman, |
| One of the Ever-living, as I think— |
| One of the Laughing People—and she and I |
| Shall light upon a place in the world’s core, |
| Where passion grows to be a changeless thing, |
| Like charmèd apples made of chrysoprase, |
| Or chrysoberyl, or beryl, or chrysolite; |
| And there, in juggleries of sight and sense, |
| Become one movement, energy, delight, |
| Until the overburthened moon is dead. |
| [A number of Sailors enter hurriedly.] |
| First Sailor. Look there! there in the mist! a ship of spice! |
| And we are almost on her! |
| Second Sailor. We had not known |
| But for the ambergris and sandalwood. |
| First Sailor. No; but opoponax and cinnamon. |
| Forgael [taking the tiller from Aibric]. The Ever-living have kept my bargain for me, |
| And paid you on the nail. |
| Aibric. Take up that rope |
| To make her fast while we are plundering her. |
| First Sailor. There is a king and queen upon her deck, |
| And where there is one woman there’ll be others. |
| Aibric. Speak lower, or they’ll hear. |
| First Sailor. They cannot hear; |
| They are too busy with each other. Look! |
| He has stooped down and kissed her on the lips. |
| Second Sailor. When she finds out we have better men aboard |
| She may not be too sorry in the end. |
| First Sailor. She will be like a wild cat; for these queens |
| Care more about the kegs of silver and gold |
| And the high fame that come to them in marriage, |
| Than a strong body and a ready hand. |
| Second Sailor. There’s nobody is natural but a robber, |
| And that is why the world totters about |
| Upon its bandy legs. |
| Aibric. Run at them now, |
| And overpower the crew while yet asleep! |
| [The Sailors go out.] |
| [Voices
and the clashing of swords are heard from the other ship, which cannot be seen because of the sail.] |
| A Voice. Armed men have come upon us! O I am slain! |
| Another Voice. Wake all below! |
| Another Voice. Why have you broken our sleep? |
| First Voice. Armed men have come upon us! O I am slain! |
| Forgael [who has remained at the tiller]. There! there they come! Gull, gannet, or diver, |
| But with a man’s head, or a fair woman’s, |
| They hover over the masthead awhile |
| To wait their friends; but when their friends have come |
| They’ll fly upon that secret way of theirs. |
| One—and one—a couple—five together; |
| And I will hear them talking in a minute. |
| Yes, voices! but I do not catch the words. |
| Now I can hear. There’s one of them that says, |
| ‘How light we are, now we are changed to birds!’ |
| Another answers, ‘Maybe we shall find |
| Our heart’s desire now that we are so light.’ |
| And then one asks another how he died, |
| And says, |