The Land Of Hearts Desire | Page 2

ballad-makers and the like. The griddle-bread is there in front of you. Colleen, what is the wonder in that book, That you must leave the bread to cool? Had I Or had my father read or written books There was no stocking stuffed with yellow guineas To come when I am dead to Shawn and you.
FATHER HART. You should not fill your head with foolish dreams. What are you reading?
MARY. How a Princess Edane, A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard A voice singing on a May Eve like this, And followed half awake and half asleep, Until she came into the Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue. And she is still there, busied with a dance Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood, Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top.
MAURTEEN. Persuade the colleen to put down the book; My grandfather would mutter just such things, And he was no judge of a dog or a horse, And any idle boy could blarney him; just speak your mind.
FATHER HART. Put it away, my colleen; God spreads the heavens above us like great wings And gives a little round of deeds and days, And then come the wrecked angels and set snares, And bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams, Until the heart is puffed with pride and goes Half shuddering and half joyous from God's peace; And it was some wrecked angel, blind with tears, Who flattered Edane's heart with merry words. My colleen, I have seen some other girls Restless and ill at ease, but years went by And they grew like their neighbours and were glad In minding children, working at the churn, And gossiping of weddings and of wakes; For life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age bring the red flare again.
MAURTEEN. That's true--but she's too young to know it's true.
BRIDGET. She's old enough to know that it is wrong To mope and idle.
MAURTEEN. I've little blame for her; She's dull when my big son is in the fields, And that and maybe this good woman's tongue Have driven her to hide among her dreams Like children from the dark under the bed-clothes.
BRIDGET. She'd never do a turn if I were silent.
MAURTEEN. And maybe it is natural upon May Eve To dream of the good people. But tell me, girl, If you've the branch of blessed quicken wood That women hang upon the post of the door That they may send good luck into the house? Remember they may steal new-married brides After the fall of twilight on May Eve, Or what old women mutter at the fire Is but a pack of lies.
FATHER HART. It may be truth We do not know the limit of those powers God has permitted to the evil spirits For some mysterious end. You have done right.
(to MARY);
It's well to keep old innocent customs up.
(MARY BRUIN has taken a bough of quicken wood from a seat and hung it on a nail in the doorpost. A girl child strangely dressed, perhaps in faery green, comes out of the wood and takes it away.)
MARY. I had no sooner hung it on the nail Before a child ran up out of the wind; She has caught it in her hand and fondled it; Her face is pale as water before dawn.
FATHER HART. Whose child can this be?
MAURTEEN. No one's child at all. She often dreams that some one has gone by, When there was nothing but a puff of wind.
MARY. They have taken away the blessed quicken wood, They will not bring good luck into the house; Yet I am glad that I was courteous to them, For are not they, likewise, children of God?
FATHER HART. Colleen, they are the children of the fiend, And they have power until the end of Time, When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle And hack them into pieces.
MARY. He will smile, Father, perhaps, and open His great door.
FATHER HART. Did but the lawless angels see that door They would fall, slain by everlasting peace; And when such angels knock upon our doors, Who goes with them must drive through the same storm.
(A thin old arm comes round the door-post and knocks and beckons. It is clearly seen in the silvery light. MARY BRUIN goes to door and stands in it for a moment. MAURTEEN BRUIN is busy filling FATHER HART's plate. BRIDGET BRUIN stirs the fire.)
MARY (coming to table) There's somebody out there that beckoned me And raised her hand as though it held a cup, And she was drinking from it, so it may be That