The Land of Hearts Desire | Page 3

too crafty and too wise,?A tongue that is too godly and too grave,?A tongue that is more bitter than the tide,?And a kind tongue too full of drowsy love,?Of drowsy love and my captivity.
[SHAWN BRUIN comes over to her and leads her to the settle.
SHAWN BRUIN.
Do not blame me: I often lie awake?Thinking that all things trouble your bright head--?How beautiful it is--such broad pale brows?Under a cloudy blossoming of hair!?Sit down beside me here--these are too old,?And have forgotten they were ever young.
MAIRE BRUIN.
O, you are the great door-post of this house,?And I the red nasturtium climbing up.
[She takes_ SHAWN'S hand but looks shyly at the priest and lets it go._
FATHER HART.
Good daughter, take his hand--by love alone?God binds us to Himself and to the hearth?And shuts us from the waste beyond His peace,?From maddening freedom and bewildering light.
SHAWN BRUIN.
Would that the world were mine to give it you?With every quiet hearth and barren waste,?The maddening freedom of its woods and tides,?And the bewildering lights upon its hills.
MAIRE BRUIN.
Then I would take and break it in my hands?To see you smile watching it crumble away.
SHAWN BRUIN.
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.
MAIRE BRUIN.
Your looks are all the candles that I need.
SHAWN BRUIN.
Once a fly dancing in a beam o' 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; and sun and moor,?Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll;?But your white spirit still walk by my spirit.?For not a power in earth and heaven and hell?Can break this bond binding heart unto heart.
[A VOICE sings in the distance.
MAIRE BRUIN.
Did you hear something call? O, guard me close,?Because I have said wicked things to-night.
A VOICE (close to the door).
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 must wither away!'
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
I am right happy, and would make all else?Be happy too. I hear a child outside,?And will go bring her in out of the cold.
[He opens the door. A_ CHILD dressed in a green jacket with a red cap comes into the house._
THE CHILD.
I tire of winds and waters and pale lights!
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
You are most welcome. It is cold out there,?Who'd think to face such cold on a May Eve.
THE CHILD.
And when I tire of this warm little house,?There is one here who must away, away,?To where the woods, the stars, and the white streams?Are holding a continual festival.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
O listen to her dreamy and strange talk,?Come to the fire.
THE CHILD.
I'll sit upon your knee,?For I have run from where the winds are born,?And long-to rest my feet a little while.
[She sits upon his knee.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
How pretty you are!
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
Your hair is wet with dew!
BRIDGET BRUIN.
I'll chafe your poor chilled feet.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
You must have come?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.
They are both nasty.?Old mother, have you nothing nice for me?
BRIDGET BRUIN.
I have some honey!
[She goes into the next room.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
You are a dear child;?The mother was quite cross before you came.
[BRIDGET _returns with the honey, and goes to the dresser and fills a porringer with milk._
BRIDGET BRUIN.
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 awhile?And I will put it by the fire to warm,?For things well fitted for poor folk like us?Would never please a high-born child like you.
THE CHILD.
Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn?Brightens above while you blow up the fire;?And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.?The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,?But you work on because your heart is old.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
The young are idle.
THE CHILD.
Old father, you are wise,?And all the years have gathered in your heart?To whisper of the wonders that are gone.?The young must sigh through many a dream and hope,?But you are wise because your heart is old.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
O, who would think to find so young a child?Loving old age and wisdom.
[BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey.
THE CHILD.
No more, mother.
MAURTEEN