The Land Of Hearts Desire | Page 6

ears.
FATHER HART. She must both look and listen, For only the soul's choice can save her now. Come over to me, daughter; stand beside me; Think of this house and of your duties in it.
THE CHILD. Stay and come with me, newly-married bride, For if you hear him you grow like the rest; Bear children, cook, and bend above the churn, And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs, Until at last, grown old and bitter of tongue, You're crouching there and shivering at the grave.
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, 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 but obedient to the thoughts That drift into the mind at a wink of the eye.
FATHER HART. . By the dear Name of the One crucified, I bid you, Mary Bruin, come to me.
THE CHILD. I keep you in the name of your own heart.
FATHER HART. It is because I put away the crucifix That I am nothing, and my power is nothing, I'll bring it here again.
MAURTEEN (clinging to him) No!
BRIDGET. Do not leave us.
FATHER HART. O, let me go before it is too late; It is my sin alone that brought it all.
(Singing outside.)
THE CHILD. I hear them sing, "Come, newly-married bride, Come, to the woods and waters and pale lights."
MARY. I will go with you.
FATHER HART. She is lost, alas!
THE CHILD (standing by the door) But clinging mortal hope must fall from you, For we who ride the winds, run on the waves, And dance upon the mountains are more light Than dewdrops on the banner of the dawn.
MARY. O, take me with you.
SHAWN. Beloved, I will keep you. I've more than words, I have these arms to hold you, Nor all the faery host, do what they please, Shall ever make me loosen you from these arms.
MARY. Dear face! Dear voice!
THE CHILD. Come, newly-married bride.
MARY. I always loved her world--and yet--and yet--
THE CHILD. White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird.
MARY. She calls me!
THE CHILD. Come with me, little bird.
(Distant dancing figures appear in the wood.)
MARY. I can hear songs and dancing.
SHAWN. Stay with me.
MARY. I think that I would stay--and yet--and yet--
THE CHILD. Come, little bird, with crest of gold.'
MARY (very soft,) And yet--
THE CHILD. Come, little bird with silver feet!
(MARY BRUIN dies, and the CHILD goes.)
SHAWN. She is dead!
BRIDGET. Come from that image; body and soul are gone You have thrown your arms about a drift of leaves, Or bole of an ash-tree changed into her image.
FATHER HART. Thus do the spirits of evil 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.
(Outside there are dancing figures, and it may be a white bird, and many voices singing.)
"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, 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 is withered away."'

NOTE
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.
It ran for a little over six weeks. It was revived in America in 1901, when it was taken on tour by Mrs. Lemoyne. It has been played two or three times professionally since then in America and a great many times in England and America by amateurs. Till lately it was not part of the repertory of the Abbey Theatre, for I had grown to dislike it without knowing what I disliked in it. This winter, however, I have made many revisions and now it plays well enough to give me pleasure. It is printed in this book in the new form, which was acted for the first time on February 22, 1912, at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin. At the Abbey Theatre, where the platform of the stage comes out in front of the curtain, the curtain falls before the priest's