creeps along the hedges at nightfall,
Rots all the heart out of my cabbages.
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 of nights
And make a hole in somebody I know of.
CATHLEEN.
They will give you a long draught of ale below.
[The GARDENER goes out.
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 will sing how Fergus drove his brazen cars.
[She chaunts with the thin voice of age.
Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep woods’ woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fears no more.
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.
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 Love’s bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.
THE SERVANT’S VOICE [without].
The Countess Cathleen must not be disturbed.
ANOTHER VOICE.
Man, I must see her.
CATHLEEN.
Who now wants me, Paudeen?
SERVANT [from the door].
A herdsman and his history.
CATHLEEN.
He may come.
[The HERDSMAN enters from the 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.
But 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?
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 am right glad
My home is on the mountain near to God.
[He turns to go.
CATHLEEN.
They will 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.
CATHLEEN.
A story born out of the dreaming eyes
And crazy brain and credulous ears of famine.
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
