I grown more dangerous of late?
But that’s not it. I understand it all.
It’s you that have changed. You’ve wives and children now,
And for that reason cannot follow one
That lives like a bird’s flight from tree to tree.—
It’s time the years put water in my blood
And drowned the wildness of it, for all’s changed,
But that unchanged.—I’ll take what oath you will:
The moon, the sun, the water, light, or air,
I do not care how binding.
CONCHUBAR.
On this fire
That has been lighted from your hearth and mine;
The older men shall be my witnesses,
The younger, yours. The holders of the fire
Shall purify the thresholds of the house
With waving fire, and shut the outer door,
According to the custom; and sing rhyme
That has come down from the old law-makers
To blow the witches out. Considering
That the wild will of man could be oath-bound,
But that a woman’s could not, they bid us sing
Against the will of woman at its wildest
In the shape-changers that run upon the wind.
[CONCHUBAR has gone on to his throne.]
THE WOMEN.
[They sing in a very low voice after the first few words so that the others all but drown their words.
May this fire have driven out
The shape-changers that can put
Ruin on a great king’s house
Until all be ruinous.
Names whereby a man has known
The threshold and the hearthstone,
Gather on the wind and drive
The women, none can kiss and thrive,
For they are but whirling wind,
Out of memory and mind.
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay,
Planted in the running wave;
Or, for many shapes they have,
They would change them into hounds,
Until he had died of his wounds,
Though the change were but a whim;
Or they’d hurl a spell at him,
That he follow with desire
Bodies that can never tire,
Or grow kind, for they anoint
All their bodies, joint by joint,
With a miracle-working juice
That is made out of the grease
Of the ungoverned unicorn.
But the man is thrice forlorn,
Emptied, ruined, wracked, and lost,
That they follow, for at most
They will give him kiss for kiss;
While they murmur, ‘After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste.’
Those wild hands that have embraced
All his body can but shove
At the burning wheel of love,
Till the side of hate comes up.
Therefore in this ancient cup
May the sword-blades drink their fill
Of the homebrew there, until
They will have for masters none
But the threshold and hearthstone.
CUCHULAIN.
[Speaking, while they are singing.]
I’ll take and keep this oath, and from this day
I shall be what you please, my chicks, my nestlings.
Yet I had thought you were of those that praised
Whatever life could make the pulse run quickly,
Even though it were brief, and that you held
That a free gift was better than a forced.—
But that’s all over.—I will keep it, too.
I never gave a gift and took it again.
If the wild horse should break the chariot-pole,
It would be punished. Should that be in the oath?
[Two of the WOMEN, still singing, crouch in front of him holding the bowl over their heads. He spreads his hands over the flame.
I swear to be obedient in all things
To Conchubar, and to uphold his children.
CONCHUBAR.
We are one being, as these flames are one:
I give my wisdom, and I take your strength.
Now thrust the swords into the flame, and pray
That they may serve the threshold and the hearthstone
With faithful service.
[The KINGS kneel in a semicircle before the two WOMEN and CUCHULAIN, who thrusts his sword into the flame. They all put the points of their swords into the flame. The third WOMAN is at the back near the big door.
CUCHULAIN.
O
