The Land Of Hearts Desire | Page 4

SHAWN. Do not blame me; I often lie awake Thinking that all things
trouble your bright head. How beautiful it is--your broad pale forehead
Under a cloudy blossoming of hair! Sit down beside me here--these are
too old, And have forgotten they were ever young.
MARY. O, you are the great door-post of this house, And I the branch
of blessed quicken wood, And if I could I'd hang upon the post, Till I

had brought good luck into the house.
(She would put her arms about him, but looks shyly at the priest and
lets her arms fall.)
FATHER HART. My daughter, take his hand--by love alone God binds
us to Himself and to the hearth, That shuts us from the waste beyond
His peace From maddening freedom and bewildering light.
SHAWN. Would that the world were mine to give it you, And not its
quiet hearths alone, but even All that bewilderment of light and
freedom. If you would have it.
MARY. I would take the world And break it into pieces in my hands
To see you smile watching it crumble away.
SHAWN. Then I would mould a world of fire and dew With no one
bitter, grave or over wise,
And nothing marred or old to do you wrong, And crowd the enraptured
quiet of the sky With candles burning to your lonely face.
MARY/ Your looks are all the candles that I need.
SHAWN. Once a fly dancing in a beam of the sun, Or the light wind
blowing out of the dawn, Could fill your heart with dreams none other
knew, But now the indissoluble sacrament Has mixed your heart that
was most proud and cold With my warm heart for ever; the sun and
moon Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll But your white
spirit still walk by my spirit.
(A Voice singing in the wood.)
MAURTEEN. There's some one singing. Why, it's but a child. It sang,
"The lonely of heart is withered away." A strange song for a child, but
she sings sweetly. Listen, Listen!
(Goes to door.)

MARY. O, cling close to me, Because I have said wicked things
to-night.
THE VOICE. 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
MAURTEEN. Being happy, I would have all others happy, So I will
bring her in out of the cold.
(He brings in the faery child.)
THE CHILD. I tire of winds and waters and pale lights.
MAURTEEN. And that's no wonder, for when night has fallen The
wood's a cold and a bewildering place, But you are welcome here.
THE CHILD. I am welcome here. For when I tire of this warm little
house There is one here that must away, away.
MAURTEEN. O, listen to her dreamy and strange talk. Are you not
cold? THE CHILD. I will crouch down beside you, For I have run a
long, long way this night.
BRIDGET. You have a comely shape.
MAURTEEN. Your hair is wet.
BRIDGET. I'll warm your chilly feet.
MAURTEEN. You have come indeed A long, long way--for I have
never seen Your pretty face--and must be tired and hungry, Here is
some bread and wine.

THE CHILD. The wine is bitter. Old mother, have you no sweet food
for me?
BRIDGET. I have some honey.
(She goes into the next room.)
MAURTEEN. You have coaxing ways, The mother was quite cross
before you came.
(BRIDGET returns with the honey and fills Porringer with milk.)
BRIDGET. She is the child of gentle people; look At her white hands
and at her pretty dress. I've brought you some new milk, but wait a
while And I will put it to the fire to warm, For things well fitted for
poor folk like us Would never please a high-born child like you.
THE CHILD. From dawn, when you must blow the fire ablaze, You
work your fingers to the bone, old mother. The young may lie in bed
and dream and hope, But you must work your fingers to the bone
Because your heart is old.
BRIDGET. The young are idle.
THE CHILD. Your memories have made you wise, old father; The
young must sigh through many a dream and hope, But you are wise
because your heart is