HANDBOUND AT THE
RESPONSIBILITIES
AND OTHER POEMS
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
fork THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1916
All rights reserved
COPYHIGHT, 1911
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1908, AND 1912 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1916
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and electro typed. Published November, 1916.
CONTENTS
PAGE
RESPONSIBILITIES, 1912-1914 —
INTRODUCTORY RHYMES ... 1
THE GREY ROCK 3
THE Two KINGS 11
To A WEALTHY MAN .... 29
*- SEPTEMBER 1913 32
•^To A FRIEND WHOSE WORK HAS COME TO
NOTHING ..... 34
• PAUDEEN 35
To A SHADE ..... 36
WHEN HELEN LIVED .... 39 THE ATTACK ON 'THE PLAYBOY OF THE
WESTERN WORLD,' 1907 . . 40
THE THREE BEGGARS .... 41
THE THREE HERMITS .... 45
BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED ... 47
THE WELL AND THE TREE ... 49
- RUNNING TO PARADISE ... 50 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN ... 52 THE PLAYER QUEEN . . 59 THE REALISTS . . . . .61
^THE WITCH 62
THE PEACOCK 63
vi CONTENTS
PAGE
THE MOUNTAIN TOMB .... 64
To A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND . 66
A MEMORY OF YOUTH .... 68
FALLEN MAJESTY .... 70
FRIENDS ...... 71
THE COLD HEAVEN .... 73
THAT THE NIGHT COME ... 75
AN APPOINTMENT .... Tfi
THE MAGI (77
THE DOLLS 78
A COAT 80
CLOSING RHYMES .... 81 FROM THE GREEN HELMET AND OTHER POEMS, 1909-1912—
His DREAM 85
A WOMAN HOMER SUNG ... 87
THE CONSOLATION .... 89 No SECOND TROY . . . .91
RECONCILIATION 92
KING AND No KING .... 94
PEACE 96
AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE ... 97
THE FASCINATION OF WHAT'S DIFFICULT 99 A DRINKING SONG . . . .101
THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH TIME . 102
ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS OF OUR
NEW UNIVERSITY HAVE JOINED THE
ANCIENT ORDER OF HIBERNIANS . 103
To A POET . 104
CONTENTS vii
PAGE
THE MASK 105
UPON A HOUSE SHAKEN BY THE LAND
AGITATION 106
AT THE ABBEY THEATRE . . . 108
THESE ARE THE CLOUDS . . .110
AT GALWAY RACES . . . .112
A FRIEND'S ILLNESS . . . .113
ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME . . .114
THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG . . .115
THE HOUR-GLASS— 1912 .... 117
NOTES 181
'In dreams begins responsibility.9
Old Play.
6 How am I fallen from myself, for a
long time now I have not seen the Prince of Chang in
my dreams.9
Khoung-fou-tseu.
RESPONSIBILITIES
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain Somewhere in ear -shot for the story's
end, Old Dublin merchant (free of ten and
four9
Or trading out of Galway into Spain; And country scholar, Robert Emmefs
friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor; Traders or soldiers who have left me
blood That has not passed through any hux-
ter's loin, Pardon, and you that did not weigh
the cost, Old Butlers when you took to horse and
stood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne Till your bad master blenched and all
was lost;
You merchant skipper that leaped over-
board
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay, You most of all, silent and fierce old
man Because you were the spectacle that
stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say ' Only the wasteful virtues earn the,
sun ';
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake, Although I have come close on forty- nine I have no child, I have nothing but a
book, Nothing but that to prove your blood
and mine.
January 1914.
THE GREY ROCK
Poets with whom I learned my trade, Companions of the Cheshire Cheese, Here's an old story I've re-made, Imagining 'twould better please Your ears than stories now in fashion, Though you may think I waste my
breath
Pretending that there can be passion That has more life in it than death, And though at bottling of your wine The bow-legged Goban had no say; The moral's yours because it's mine.
When cups went round at close of
day- Is not that how good stories run? — Somewhere within some hollow hill,
3
4 THE GREY ROCK
If books speak truth in Slievenamon, But let that be, the gods were still And sleepy, having had their meal, And smoky torches made a glare On painted pillars, on a deal Of fiddles and of flutes hung there By the ancient holy hands that brought
them
From murmuring Murias, on cups- Old Goban hammered them and
wrought them,
And put his pattern round their tops To hold the wine they buy of him. But from the juice that made them
wise
All those had lifted up the dim Imaginations of their eyes, For one that was like woman made Before their sleepy eyelids ran And trembling with her passion said, 'Come out and dig for a dead man, Who's burrowing somewhere in the
ground,
THE GREY ROCK 5
And mock him to his face and then Hollo him on with horse and hound, For he is the worst of all dead men.'
We should be dazed and terror struck, If we but saw in dreams that room, Those wine-drenched eyes, and curse our
luck
That emptied all our days to come. I knew a woman none could please, Because she dreamed when but a child Of men and women made like these; And after, when her blood ran wild, Had ravelled her own story out, And said, 'In two or in three years I need must marry some poor lout,9 And having said it burst in tears. Since, tavern comrades, you have died, Maybe your images have stood, Mere bone and muscle thrown aside, Before that roomful or as good. You had to face your ends when young — 'Twas wine or women, or some curse —
6 THE GREY ROCK
But never made a poorer song That you might have a heavier purse, Nor gave loud service to a cause That you might have a troop of friends. You kept the Muses9 sterner laws, And unrepenting faced your ends, And therefore earned the right — and yet Dowson and Johnson most I praise — To troop with those the world's forgot, And copy their proud steady gaze.
'The Danish troop was driven out Between the dawn and dusk/ she
said; * Although the event was long in
doubt,
Although the King of Ireland's dead And half the kings, before sundown All was accomplished.'
'When this day
Murrough, the King of Ireland's son, Foot after foot was giving way,
THE GREY ROCK 7
He and his best troops back to back Had perished there, but the Danes ran, Stricken with panic from the attack, The shouting of an unseen man; And being thankful Murrough found, Led by a footsole dipped in blood That had made prints upon the ground, Where by old thorn trees that man
stood; And though when he gazed here and
there, He had but gazed on thorn trees,
spoke,
"Who is the friend that seems but air And yet could give so fine a stroke?" Thereon a young man met his eye, Who said, "Because she held me in Her love, and would not have me die, Rock-nurtured Aoife took a pin, And pushing it into my shirt, Promised that for a pin's sake, No man should see to do me hurt; But there it's gone; I will not take
8 THE GREY ROCK
The fortune that had been my shame Seeing, King's son, what wounds you
have." 'Twas roundly spoke, but when night
came
He had betrayed me to his grave, For he and the King's son were dead. I'd promised him two hundred years, And when for all I'd done or said — And these immortal eyes shed tears — He claimed his country's need was
most,
I'd save his life, yet for the sake Of a new friend he has turned a ghost. What does he care if my heart break? I call for spade and horse and hound That we may harry him.' Thereon She cast herself upon the ground And rent her clothes and made her
moan: 'Why are they faithless when their
might Is from the holy shades that rove
THE GREY ROCK 9
The grey rock and the windy light? Why should the faithfullest heart
most love
The bitter sweetness of false faces? ^WEy must die lasting love what
passes, Why are the gods by men betrayed ! '
But thereon every god stood up With a slow smile and without sound, And stretching forth his arm and cup To where she moaned upon the
ground,
Suddenly drenched her to the skin; And she with Goban's wine adrip, No more remembering what had been, Stared at the gods with laughing lip.
I have kept my faith, though faith was
tried,
To that rock-born, rock-wandering foot, And the world's altered since you died, And I am in no good repute
10 THE GREY ROCK
With the loud host before the sea,
That think sword strokes were better
meant
Than lover's music — let that be, So that the wandering foot's content.
THE TWO KINGS
KING EOCHAID came at sundown to a
wood Westward of Tara. Hurrying to his
queen
He had out-ridden his war- wasted men That with empounded cattle trod the
mire; And where beech trees had mixed a
pale green light With the ground-ivy's blue, he saw a
stag Whiter than curds, its eyes the tint
of the sea. Because it stood upon his path and
seemed More hands in height than any stag
in the world
11
12 THE TWO KINGS
He sat with tightened rein and loosened
mouth Upon his trembling horse, then drove
the spur; But the stag stooped and ran at him,
and passed, Rending the horse's flank. King
Eochaid reeled Then drew his sword to hold its
levelled point Against the stag. When horn and
steel were met The horn resounded as though it had
been silver,
A sweet, miraculous, terrifying sound. Horn locked in sword, they tugged
and struggled there As though a stag and unicorn were
met
In Africa on Mountain of the Moon, Until at last the double horns, drawn
backward, Butted below the single and so pierced
THE TWO KINGS 13
The entrails of the horse. Dropping
his sword King Eochaid seized the horns in his
strong hands And stared into the sea-green eye, and
so
Hither and thither to and fro they trod Till all the place was beaten into mire. The strong thigh and the agile thigh
were met, The hands that gathered up the might
of the world, And hoof and horn that had sucked in
their speed
Amid the elaborate wilderness of the air. Through bush they plunged and over
ivied root, And where the stone struck fire, while
in the leaves A squirrel whinnied and a bird screamed
out; But when at last he forced those
sinewy flanks
14 THE TWO KINGS
Against a beech bole, he threw down
the beast And knelt above it with drawn knife.
On the instant
It vanished like a shadow, and a cry So mournful that it seemed the cry of
one Who had lost some unimaginable
treasure Wandered between the blue and the
green leaf And climbed into the air, crumbling
away,
Till all had seemed a shadow or a vision But for the trodden mire, the pool of
blood, The disembowelled horse.
King Eochaid ran, Toward peopled Tara, nor stood to
draw his breath
Until he came before the painted wall, The posts of polished yew, circled
with bronze,
THE TWO KINGS 15
Of the great door; but though the
hanging lamps Showed their faint light through the
unshuttered windows, Nor door, nor mouth, nor slipper made
a noise, Nor on the ancient beaten paths, that
wound From well-side or from plough-land,
was there noise; And there had been no sound of
living thing
Before him or behind, but that far-off On the horizon edge bellowed the herds. Knowing that silence brings no good
to kings, And mocks returning victory, he
passed Between the pillars with a beating
heart And saw where in the midst of the
great hall Pale-faced, alone upon a bench, Edain
16 THE TWO KINGS
Sat upright with a sword before her
feet. Her hands on either side had gripped
the bench, Her eyes were cold and steady, her
lips tight. Some passion had made her stone.
Hearing a foot She started and then knew whose
foot it was; But when he thought to take her in
his arms She motioned him afar, and rose and
spoke : "I have sent among the fields or to
the woods The fighting men and servants of this
house, For I would have your judgment
upon one
Who is self -accused. If she be innocent She would not look in any known
man's face
THE TWO KINGS 17
Till judgment has been given, and if
guilty, Will never look again on known man's
face.' And at these words he paled, as she
had paled, Knowing that he should find upon
her lips The meaning of that monstrous
day.
Then she: "You brought me where your brother
Ardan sat Always in his one seat, and bid me
care him Through that strange illness that had
fixed him there, And should he die to heap his burial
mound And carve his name in Ogham.'
Eochaid said, 'He lives?' 'He lives and is a healthy
man,'
18 THE TWO KINGS
'While I have him and you it matters
little What man you have lost, what evil
you have found.'
'I bid them make his bed under this roof And carried him his food with my
own hands, And so the weeks passed by. But
when I said "What is this trouble?" he would
answer nothing, Though always at my words his trouble
grew; And I but asked the more, till he cried
out, Weary of many questions: "There
are things That make the heart akin to the dumb
stone." Then I replied: "Although you hide
a secret, Hopeless and dear, or terrible to think
on,
THE TWO KINGS 19
Speak it, that I may send through the
wide world
For medicine." Thereon he cried aloud : "Day after day you question me, and I, Because there is such a storm amid
my thoughts
I shall be carried in the gust, command, Forbid, beseech and waste my breath."
Then I, "Although the thing that you have
hid were evil, The speaking of it could be no great
wrong, And evil must it be, if done 'twere
worse Than mound and stone that keep all
virtue in, And loosen on us dreams that waste
our life, Shadows and shows that can but turn
the brain." But finding him still silent I stooped
down
20 THE TWO KINGS
And whispering that none but he
should hear,
Said: "If a woman has put this on you, My men, whether it please her or
displease, And though they have to cross the
Loughlan waters And take her in the middle of armed
men,
Shall make her look upon her handi- work, That she may quench the rick she has
fired; and though She may have worn silk clothes, or
worn a crown, She'll not be proud, knowing within
her heart
That our sufficient portion of the world Is that we give, although it be brief
giving,
Happiness to children and to men." Then he, driven by his thought beyond
his thought,
THE TWO KINGS 21
And speaking what he would not
though he would, Sighed: :<You, even you yourself,
could work the cure!" And at those words I rose and I went
out And for nine days he had food from
other hands, And for nine days my mind went
whirling round
The one disastrous zodiac, muttering That the immedicable mound's beyond Our questioning, beyond our pity even. But when nine days had gone I stood
again Before his chair and bending down
my head Told him, that when Orion rose, and
all The women of his household were
asleep, To go — for hope would give his limbs
the power —
M THE TWO KINGS
To an old empty woodman's house
that's hidden Close to a clump of beech trees in the
wood Westward of Tara, there to await a
friend That could, as he had told her, work
his cure And would be no harsh friend.
When night had deepened, I groped my way through boughs,
and over roots, Till oak and hazel ceased and beech
began, And found the house, a sputtering
torch within, And stretched out sleeping on a pile
of skins Ardan, and though I called to him
and tried To shake him out of sleep, I could not
rouse him. I waited till the night was on the turn,
THE TWO KINGS 23
Then fearing that some labourer, on
his way To plough or pasture-land, might see
me there, Went out.
Among the ivy-covered rocks, As on the blue light of a sword, a man Who had unnatural majesty, and eyes Like the eyes of some great kite
scouring the woods, Stood on my path. Trembling from
head to foot
I gazed at him like grouse upon a kite; But with a voice that had unnatural
music,
"A weary wooing and a long," he said, "Speaking of love through other lips
and looking Under the eyelids of another, for it
was my craft
That put a passion in the sleeper there, And when I had got my will and
drawn you here,
24 THE TWO KINGS
Where I may speak to you alone, my
craft Sucked up the passion out of him
again And left mere sleep. He'll wake when
the sun wakes, Push out his vigorous limbs and rub
his eyes, And wonder what has ailed him these
twelve months."
I cowered back upon the wall in terror, But that sweet-sounding voice ran on:
"Woman, I was your husband when you rode
the air, Danced in the whirling foam and in
the dust,
In days you have not kept in memory, Being betrayed into a cradle, and I
come That I may claim you as my wife
again." I was no longer terrified, his voice
THE TWO KINGS 25
Had half awakened some old memory, Yet answered him: "I am King
Eochaid's wife And with him have found every
happiness Women can find." With a most
masterful voice, That made the body seem as it were
a string
Under a bow, he cried: "What hap- piness Can lovers have that know their
happiness Must end at the dumb stone? But
where we build
Our sudden palaces in the still air Pleasure itself can bring no weariness, Nor can time waste the cheek, nor is
there foot That has grown weary of the whirling
dance, Nor an unlaughing mouth, but mine
that mourns,
26 THE TWO KINGS
Among those mouths that sing their
sweethearts' praise, Your empty bed." "How should I
love," I answered, "Were it not that when the dawn
has lit my bed And shown my husband sleeping there,
I have sighed, 4 Your strength and nobleness will
pass away.' Or how should love be worth its pains
were it not That when he has fallen asleep within
my arms, Being wearied out, I love in man the
child? What can they know of love that do
not know She builds her nest upon a narrow
ledge
Above a windy precipice?" Then he: "Seeing that when you come to the
death-bed
THE TWO KINGS 27
You must return, whether you would
or no,
This human life blotted from memory, Why must I live some thirty, forty
years,
Alone with all this useless happiness?" Thereon he seized me in his arms,
but I Thrust him away with both my hands
and cried, "Never will I believe there is any
change Can blot out of my memory this
life Sweetened by death, but if I could
believe
That were a double hunger in my lips For what is doubly brief."
And now the shape, My hands were pressed to, vanished
suddenly. I staggered, but a beech tree stayed
my fall,
28 THE TWO KINGS
And clinging to it I could hear the
cocks Crow upon Tara/
King Eochaid bowed his head And thanked her for her kindness to
his brother, For that she promised, and for that
refused.
Thereon the bellowing of the em- pounded herds
Rose round the walls, and through the bronze-ringed door
Jostled and shouted those war-wasted men,
And in the midst King Eochaid's brother stood.
He'd heard that din on the horizon's edge
And ridden towards it, being ignorant.
TO A WEALTHY MAN WHO PROMISED A SECOND SUBSCRIPTION TO THE DUBLIN MUNICIPAL GALLERY IF IT WERE PROVED THE PEOPLE WANTED PICTURES
You gave but will not give again Until enough of Paudeen's pence By Biddy's halfpennies have lain To be 'some sort of evidence,' Before you'll put your guineas down, That things it were a pride to give Are what the blind and ignorant town Imagines best to make it thrive. What cared Duke Ercole, that bid His mummers to the market place, What th' onion-sellers thought or did So that his Plautus set the pace For the Italian comedies? And Guidobaldo, when he made
29
30 TO A WEALTHY MAN
That grammar school of courtesies Where wit and beauty learned their
trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill, Had sent no runners to and fro That he might learn the shepherds'
will.
And when they drove out Cosimo, Indifferent how the rancour ran, He gave the hours they had set
free
To Michelozzo's latest plan For the San Marco Library, Whence turbulent Italy should draw Delight in Art whose end is peace, In logic and in natural law By sucking at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss, For he knew better how to live. Let Paudeens play at pitch and toss, Look up in the sun's eye and give What the exultant heart calls good
TO A WEALTHY MAN 31
That some new day may breed the
best Because you gave, not what they
would But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!
December 1912.
SEPTEMBER 1913
WHAT need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the
bone;
For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind The names that stilled your childish
play, They have gone about the world like
wind,
But little time had they to pray For whom the hangman's rope was
spun,
SEPTEMBER 1913 33
And what, God help us, could they
save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread The grey wing upon every tide; For this that all that blood was shed, For this Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave; Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again, And call those exiles as they were, In all their loneliness and pain You'd cry 'some woman's yellow hair Has maddened every mother's son': They weighed so lightly what they
gave,
But let them be, they're dead and gone, They're with O'Leary in the grave.
TO A FRIEND WHOSE WORK HAS COME TO NOTHING
Now all the truth is out, Be secret and take defeat From any brazen throat, For how can you compete, Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbours' eyes? Bred to a harder thing Than Triumph, turn away And like a laughing string Whereon mad fingers play Amid a place of stone, Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.
PAUDEEN
INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the
obscure spite Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I
stumbled blind Among the stones and thorn trees,
under morning light; Until a curlew cried and in the lumi- nous wind A curlew answered; and suddenly
thereupon I thought That on the lonely height where all
are in God's eye, There cannot be, confusion of our
sound forgot, A single soul that lacks a sweet crys-
taline cry.
35
TO A SHADE
IF you have revisited the town, thin
Shade,
Whether to look upon your monument (I wonder if the builder has been paid) Or happier thoughted when the day
is spent To drink of that salt breath out of
the sea When grey gulls flit about instead of
men,
And the gaunt houses put on majesty: Let these content you and be gone
again; For they are at their old tricks yet.
A man Of your own passionate serving kind
who had brought
36
TO A SHADE 37
In his full hands what, had they only
known, Had given their children's children
loftier thought, Sweeter emotion, working in their
veins Like gentle blood, has been driven
from the place, And insult heaped upon him for his
pains
And for his open-handedness, dis- grace; An old foul mouth that slandered
you had set The pack upon him.
Go, unquiet wanderer, And gather the Glasnevin coverlet About your head till the dust stops
your ear, The time for you to taste of that salt
breath And listen at the corners has not
come;
38 TO A SHADE
You had enough of sorrow before
death — Away, away! You are safer in the
tomb.
September 29th, 1914.
WHEN HELEN LIVED
WE have cried in our despair
That men desert,
For some trivial affair
Or noisy, insolent sport,
Beauty that we have won
From bitterest hours;
Yet we, had we walked within
Those topless towers
Where Helen walked with her boy,
Had given but as the rest
Of the men and women of Troy,
A word and a jest.
THE ATTACK ON 'THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD/ 1907
ONCE, when midnight smote the air, Eunuchs ran through Hell and met From thoroughfare to thoroughfare, While that great Juan galloped by; And like these to rail and sweat Staring upon his sinewy thigh.
40
THE THREE BEGGARS
' Though to my feathers in the wet, I have stood here from break of day, I have not found a thing to eat For only rubbish comes my way. Am I to live on lebeen-lone? 9 Muttered the old crane of Gort. 6 For all my pains on lebeen-lone.9
King Guari walked amid his court The palace-yard and river-side And there to three old beggars said: 'You that have wandered far and
wide
Can ravel out what's in my head. Do men who least desire get most, Or get the most who most desire? ' A beggar said: 'They get the most
41
42 THE THREE BEGGARS
Whom man or devil cannot tire,
And what could make their muscles
taut
Unless desire had made them so.' But Guari laughed with secret thought, 4 If that be true as it seems true, One of you three is a rich man, For he shall have a thousand pounds Who is first asleep, if but he can Sleep before the third noon sounds/ And thereon merry as a bird, With his old thoughts King Guari
went
From river-side and palace-yard And left them to their argument. 'And if I win,' one beggar said, 'Though I am old I shall persuade A pretty girl to share my bed'; The second: 'I shall learn a trade'; The third: 'I'll hurry to the course Among the other gentlemen, And lay it all upon a horse'; The second: 'I have thought again:
THE THREE BEGGARS 43
A farmer has more dignity.' One to another sighed and cried: The exorbitant dreams of beggary, That idleness had borne to pride, Sang through their teeth from noon
to noon;
And when the second twilight brought The frenzy of the beggars' moon They closed their blood-shot eyes for
naught. One beggar cried: "You're shamming
sleep.'
And thereupon their anger grew Till they were whirling in a heap.
They'd mauled and bitten the night
through
Or sat upon their heels to rail, And when old Guari came and stood Before the three to end this tale, They were commingling lice and blood. "Time's up,' he cried, and all the
three
44 THE THREE BEGGARS
With blood-shot eyes upon him stared. 'Time's up/ he cried, and all the
three Fell down upon the dust and snored.
' Maybe I shall be lucky yet, Now they are silent,9 said the crane. 6 Though to my feathers in the wet I've stood as I were made of stone And seen the rubbish run about9 It's certain there are trout somewhere And maybe I shall take a trout If but I do not seem to care.9
THE THREE HERMITS
THREE old hermits took the air By a cold and desolate sea, First was muttering a prayer, Second rummaged for a flea; On a windy stone, the third, Giddy with his hundredth year, Sang unnoticed like a bird. 'Though the Door of Death is near And what waits behind the door, Three times in a single day I, though upright on the shore, Fall asleep when I should pray.' So the first,but now the second, 'We're but given what we have
earned When all thoughts and deeds are
reckoned, So it's plain to be discerned
45
46 THE THREE HERMITS
That the shades of holy men, Who have failed being weak of will, Pass the Door of Birth again, And are plagued by crowds, until They've the passion to escape.' Moaned the other, 'They are thrown Into some most fearful shape.' But the second mocked his moan: 'They are not changed to anything, Having loved God once, but maybe, To a poet or a king Or a witty lovely lady.' While he'd rummaged rags and hair, Caught and cracked his flea, the third, Giddy with his hundredth year Sang unnoticed like a bird.
BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED
"TiME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air/
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.'
'And get a comfortable wife and house To rid me of the devil in my shoes,' Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
'And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
47
48 BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED
She need not be too comely — let it pass/
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking- glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch/
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace/
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- struck,
'The wind-blown clamor of the barnacle-geese. '
THE WELL AND THE TREE
'THE Man that I praise,'
Cries out the empty well,
'Lives all his days
Where a hand on the bell
Can call the milch-cows
To the comfortable door of his house.
Who but an idiot would praise
Dry stones in a well?'
'The Man that I praise,'
Cries out the leafless tree,
'Has married and stays
By an old hearth, and he
On naught has set store
But children and dogs on the floor.
Who but an idiot would praise
A withered tree?'
RUNNING TO PARADISE
As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap,
For I am running to Paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the
dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish : And there the king is but as the
beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out With skelping his big brawling lout, And I am running to Paradise; A poor life do what he can, And though he keep a dog and a gun, A serving maid and a serving man: And there the king is but as the beggar.
50
RUNNING TO PARADISE 51
Poor men have grown to be rich men, And rich men grown to be poor again, And I am running to Paradise; And many a darling wit's grown dull That tossed a bare heel when at school, Now it has filled an old sock full: And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play While I must hurry upon my way, For I am running to Paradise; Yet never have I lit on a friend To take my fancy like the wind That nobody can buy or bind: And there the king is but as the beggar.
THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN
A ONE-LEGGED, one-armed, one-eyed
man,
A bundle of rags upon a crutch, Stumbled on windy Cruachan Cursing the wind. It was as much As the one sturdy leg could do To keep him upright while he cursed. He had counted, where long years ago Queen Maeve's nine Maines had been
nursed,
A pair of lapwings, one old sheep And not a house to the plain's edge, When close to his right hand a heap Of grey stones and a rocky ledge Reminded him that he could make, If he but shifted a few stones, A shelter till the daylight broke.
52
THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 53
But while he fumbled with the stones
They toppled over; 'Were it not
I have a lucky wooden shin
I had been hurt'; and toppling
brought Before his eyes, where stones had
been,
A dark deep hole in the rock's face. He gave a gasp and thought to
run,
Being certain it was no right place But the Hell Mouth at Cruachan That's stuffed with all that's old and
bad,
And yet stood still, because inside He had seen a red-haired jolly lad In some outlandish coat beside A ladle and a tub of beer, Plainly no phantom by his look. So with a laugh at his own fear He crawled into that pleasant nook. Young Red-head stretched himself to
yawn
54 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN
And murmured, 'May God curse the
night
That's grown uneasy near the dawn So that it seems even I sleep light; And who are you that wakens me? Has one of Maeve's nine brawling sons Grown tired of his own company? But let him keep his grave for once I have to find the sleep I have lost.' And then at last being wide awake, "I took you for a brawling ghost, Say what you please, but from day- break
I'll sleep another century/ The beggar deaf to all but hope Went down upon a hand and knee And took the wooden ladle up And would have dipped it in the beer But the other pushed his hand aside, 'Before you have dipped it in the beer That sacred Goban brewed,' he cried, 'I'd have assurance that you are able To value beer — I will have no fool
THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 55
Dipping his nose into my ladle Because he has stumbled on this hole In the bad hour before the dawn. If you but drink that beer and say I will sleep until the winter's gone, Or maybe, to Midsummer Day You will sleep that length; and at the
first
I waited so for that or this — Because the weather was a-cursed Or I had no woman there to kiss, And slept for half a year or so; But year by year I found that less Gave me such pleasure I'd forgo Even a half hour's nothingness, And when at one year's end I found I had not waked a single minute, I chose this burrow under ground. I will sleep away all Time within it: My sleep were now nine centuries But for those mornings when I find The lapwing at their foolish cries And the sheep bleating at the wind
56 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN
As when I also played the fool.'
The beggar in a rage began
Upon his hunkers in the hole,
'It's plain that you are no right man
To mock at everything I love
As if it were not worth the doing.
I'd have a merry life enough
If a good Easter wind were blowing,
And though the winter wind is bad
I should not be too down in the mouth
For anything you did or said
If but this wind were in the south.'
But the other cried, 'You long for
spring
Or that the wind would shift a point And do not know that you would
bring,
If time were suppler in the joint, Neither the spring nor the south wind But the hour when you shall pass
away
And leave no smoking wick behind, For all life longs for the Last Day
THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 57
And there's no man but cocks his ear To know when Michael's trumpet
cries
That flesh and bone may disappear, And souls as if they were but sighs, And there be nothing but God left; But I alone being blessed keep Like some old rabbit to my cleft And wait Him in a drunken sleep.'
He dipped his ladle in the tub
And drank and yawned and stretched
him out.
The other shouted, 'You would rob My life of every pleasant thought And every comfortable thing And so take that and that.' Thereon He gave him a great pummelling, But might have pummelled at a stone For all the sleeper knew or cared; And after heaped the stones again And cursed and prayed, and prayed
and cursed:
58 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN
'Oh God if he got loose!' And then In fury and in panic fled From the Hell Mouth at Cruachan And gave God thanks that overhead The clouds were brightening with the dawn.
THE PLAYER QUEEN
(Song from an Unfinished Play)
MY mother dandled me and sang, 'How young it is, how young!' And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.
'He went away/ my mother sang, 'When I was brought to bed/ And all the while her needle pulled The gold and silver thread.
She pulled the thread and bit the
thread
And made a golden gown, And wept because she had dreamt that I Was born to wear a crown.
59
60 THE PLAYER QUEEN
4 When she was got,' my mother sang, 'I heard a sea-mew cry, And saw a flake of the yellow foam That dropped upon*my thigh.'
How therefore could she help but
braid
The gold into my hair, And dream that I should carry The golden top of care?
THE REALISTS
HOPE that you may understand! What can books of men that wive In a dragon-guarded land, Paintings of the dolphin-drawn Sea-nymphs in their pearly waggons Do, but awake a hope to live That had gone With the dragons?
61
THE WITCH
TOIL and grow rich, What's that but to lie With a foul witch And after, drained dry, To be brought To the chamber where Lies one long sought With despair.
II
THE PEACOCK
WHAT'S riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three-rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
63
THE MOUNTAIN TOMB
POUR wine and dance if Manhood still have pride,
Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom;
The cataract smokes upon the moun- tain side,
Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb.
Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle and
clarionet That there be no foot silent in the
room Nor mouth from kissing, nor from
wine unwet; Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb.
In vain, in vain; the cataract still cries
64
THE MOUNTAIN TOMB 65
The everlasting taper lights the gloom; All wisdom shut into his onyx eyes Our Father Rosicross sleeps in his tomb.
TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND
DANCE there upon the shore; What need have you to care For wind or water's roar? And tumble out your hair That the salt drops have wet; Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won, Nor the best labourer dead And all the sheaves to bind. What need have you to dread The monstrous crying of wind?
ii
Has no one said those daring Kind eyes should be more learn'd?
TO A CHILD 67
Or warned you how despairing
The moths are when they are burned,
I could have warned you, but you are
young, So we speak a different tongue.
O you will take whatever's offered And dream that all the world's a
friend,
Suffer as your mother suffered, Be as broken in the end. But I am old and you are young, And I speak a barbarous tongue.
A MEMORY OF YOUTH
THE moments passed as at a play, I had the wisdom love brings forth; I had my share of mother wit And yet for all that I could say, And though I had her praise for it, A cloud blown from the cut-throat
north Suddenly hid love's moon away.
Believing every word I said
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow
bright, And pleasure made her cheeks grow
red,
And vanity her footfall light, Yet we, for all that praise, could find Nothing but darkness overhead.
A MEMORY OF YOUTH 69
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she'd not said a
word,
That even the best of love must die, And had been savagely undone Were it not that love upon the cry Of a most ridiculous little bird Tore from the clouds his marvellous
moon.
FALLEN MAJESTY
ALTHOUGH crowds gathered once if
she but showed her face, And even old men's eyes grew dim,
this hand alone, Like some last courtier at a gypsy
camping place, Babbling of fallen majesty, records
what's gone.
The lineaments, a heart that laughter
has made sweet, These, these remain, but I record
what's gone. A crowd Will gather, and not know it walks
the very street Whereon a thing once walked that
seemed a burning cloud.
70
FRIENDS
Now must I these three praise — Three women that have wrought What joy is in my days; One that no passing thought, Nor those unpassing cares, No, not in these fifteen Many times troubled years, Could ever come between Heart and delighted heart; And one because her hand Had strength that could unbind What none can understand, What none can have and thrive, Youth's dreamy load, till she So changed me that I live Labouring in ecstasy. And what of her that took All till my youth was gone
71
72 FRIENDS
With scarce a pitying look? How should I praise that one? When day begins to break I count my good and bad, Being wakeful for her sake, Remembering what she had, What eagle look still shows, While up from my heart's root So great a sweetness flows I shake from head to foot.
THE COLD HEAVEN
SUDDENLY I saw the cold and rook- delighting Heaven That seemed as though ice burned and
was but the more ice, And thereupon imagination and heart
were driven So wild that every casual thought
of that and this Vanished, and left but memories, that
should be out of season With the hot blood of youth, of love
crossed long ago; And I took all the blame out of all
sense and reason, Until I cried and trembled and rocked
to and fro, Riddled with light. Ah! when the
ghost begins to quicken,
73
74 THE COLD HEAVEN
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for pun- ishment?
THAT THE NIGHT COME
SHE lived in storm and strife, Her soul had such desire For what proud death may bring That it could not endure The common good of life, But lived as 'twere a king That packed his marriage day With banneret and pennon, Trumpet and kettledrum, And the outrageous cannon, To bundle time away That the night come.
75
AN APPOINTMENT
BEING out of heart with government
I took a broken root to fling
Where the proud, wayward squirrel
went,
Taking delight that he could spring; And he, with that low whinnying
sound
That is like laughter, sprang again And so to the other tree at a bound. Nor the tame will, nor timid brain, Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly
limb And threw him up to laugh on the
bough; No government appointed him.
76
THE MAGI
Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain- beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence un- satisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
77
n
THE DOLLS
A DOLL in the doll-maker's house Looks at the cradle and balls: 'That is an insult to us.' But the oldest of all the dolls Who had seen, being kept for show. Generations of his sort, Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Al- though
There's not a man can report Evil of this place, The man and the woman bring Hither to our disgrace, A noisy and filthy thing.' Hearing him groan and stretch The doll-maker's wife is aware Her husband has heard the wretch, And crouched by the arm of his chair,
78
THE DOLLS 79
She murmurs into his ear, Head upon shoulder leant: "My dear, my dear, oh dear, It was an accident.'
A COAT
I MADE my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat; But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eye As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it For there's more enterprise In walking naked.
so
While 7, from that reed-throated
whisperer Who comes at need, although not now
as once
A clear articulation in the air But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof, — Ben Jonson's phrase — and find when
June is come
At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof A sterner conscience and a friendlier
home,
I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have
made me — Seeing that Fame has perished this
long while
Being but a part of ancient ceremony — Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
81
FROM THE GREEN HELMET AND OTHER POEMS
83
HIS DREAM
I SWAYED upon the gaudy stern The butt end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the shore.
And though I would have hushed the
crowd
There was no mother's son but said, 'What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?'
And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, — It had such dignity of limb — By the sweet name of Death.
Though I'd my finger on my lip, What could I but take up the song?
85
86 HIS DREAM
And fish and crowd and gaudy ship Cried out the whole night long,
Crying amid the glittering sea, Naming it with ecstatic breath, Because it had such dignity By the sweet name of Death.
A WOMAN HOMER SUNG
IF any man drew near When I was young, I thought, 'He holds her dear,' And shook with hate and fear. But oh, 'twas bitter wrong If he could pass her by With an indifferent eye.
Whereon I wrote and wrought, And now, being grey, I dream that I have brought To such a pitch my thought That coming time can say, 'He shadowed in a glass What thing her body was.'
For she had fiery blood When I was young,
87
88 A WOMAN HOMER SUNG
And trod so sweetly proud As 'twere upon a cloud, A -woman Homer sung, That life and letters seem But an heroic dream.
THE CONSOLATION
I HAD this thought awhile ago, 'My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would
do In this blind bitter land.'
And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have
done Was done to make it plain;
That every year I have cried, 'At
length
My darling understands it all, Because I have come into my strength, And words obey my call.'
89
90 THE CONSOLATION
That had she done so who can say What would have shaken from the
sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away And been content to live.
NO SECOND TROY
WHY should I blame her that she
filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most
violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the
great,
Had they but courage equal to desire? What could have made her peaceful
with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire, With beauty like a tightened bow, a
kind
That is not natural in an age like this, Being high and solitary and most
stern? Why, what could she have done being
what she is? Was there another Troy for her to
burn?
91
RECONCILIATION
SOME may have blamed you that you
took ^way The verses that could move them on
the day When, the ears being deafened, the
sight of the eyes blind With lightning you went from me,
and I could find Nothing to make a song about but
kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-for- gotten things That were like memories of you — but
now We'll out, for the world lives as long
ago; And while we're in our laughing,
weeping fit,
02
RECONCILIATION 93
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords
into the pit. But, dear, cling close to me; since
you were gone, My barren thoughts have chilled me
to the bone.
KING AND NO KING
'WOULD it were anything but merely
voice ! ' The No King cried who after that was
King,
Because he had not heard of anything That balanced with a word is more
than noise; Yet Old Romance being kind, let him
prevail Somewhere or somehow that I have
forgot, Though he'd but cannon — Whereas
we that had thought To have lit upon as clean and sweet
a tale Have been defeated by that pledge
you gave In momentary anger long ago;
94
KING AND NO KING 95
And I that have not your faith, how shall I know
That in the blinding light beyond the grave
We'll find so good a thing as that we have lost?
The hourly kindness, the day's com- mon speech,
The habitual content of each with each
When neither soul nor body has been crossed.
PEACE
AH, that Time could touch a form That could show what Homer's age Bred to be a hero's wage. 'Were not all her life but storm, Would not painters paint a form Of such noble lines,' I said, 'Such a delicate high head, All that sternness amid charm, All that sweetness amid strength?' Ah, but peace that comes at length, Came when Time had touched her form.
96
AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE
O HEART, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake. Enough if the work has seemed, So did she your strength renew, A dream that a lion had dreamed Till the wilderness cried aloud, A secret between you two, Between the proud and the proud.
What, still you would have their
praise!
But here's a haughtier text, The labyrinth of her days That her own strangeness perplexed; And how what her dreaming gave Earned slander, ingratitude,
97
98 AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE
From self -same dolt and knave; Aye, and worse wrong than these, Yet she, singing upon her road, Half lion, half child, is at peace.
THE FASCINATION OF WHAT'S DIFFICULT
THE fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins,
and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart. There's something
ails our colt
That must, as if it had not holy blood, Nor on an Olympus leaped from cloud
to cloud, Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat
and jolt As though it dragged road metal. My
curse on plays
That have to be set up in fifty ways, On the day's war with every knave
and dolt,
99
100 WHAT'S DIFFICULT
Theatre business, management of men. I swear before the dawn comes round
again I'll find the stable and pull out the
bolt.
A DRINKING SONG
WINE comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.
101
THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH TIME
THOUGH leaves are many, the root is
one; Through all the lying days of my
youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the
sun; Now I may wither into the truth.
102
-
ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS OF OUR NEW UNIVERSITY HAVE JOINED THE ANCIENT ORDER OF HIBERNIANS AND THE AGITATION AGAINST IMMORAL LITERATURE
WHERE, where but here have Pride
and Truth,
That long to give themselves for wage, To shake their wicked sides at youth Restraining reckless middle-age.
103
TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMI- TATORS OF HIS AND MINE
You say, as I have often given tongue In praise of what another's said or
sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these; But have you known a dog to praise
his fleas?
104
THE MASK
'Pur off that mask of burning gold With emerald eyes.' 'O no, my dear, you make so bold To find if hearts be wild and wise, And yet not cold.'
"I would but find what's there to find, Love or deceit.'
'It was the mask engaged your mind, And after set your heart to beat, Not what's behind.'
'But lest you are my enemy, I must enquire.' 'O no, my dear, let all that be, What matter, so there is but fire In you, in me?'
105
UPON A HOUSE SHAKEN BY THE LAND AGITATION
How should the world be luckier if
this house, Where passion and precision have
been one
Time out of mind, became too ruinous To breed the lidless eye that loves the
sun? And the sweet laughing eagle thoughts
that grow Where wings have memory of wings,
and all That comes of the best knit to the
best? Although Mean roof -trees were the sturdier for
its fall, How should their luck run high enough
to reach
106
THE LAND AGITATION 107
The gifts that govern men, and after
these To gradual Time's last gift, a written
speech Wrought of high laughter, loveliness
and ease? I
AT THE ABBEY THEATRE
(Imitated from Ronsard)
DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into
our case. When we are high and airy hundreds
say That if we hold that flight they'll
leave the place, While those same hundreds mock
another day Because we have made our art of
common things, So bitterly, you'd dream they longed
to look All their lives through into some drift
of wings. You've dandled them and fed them
from the book
108
AT THE ABBEY THEATRE 109
And know them to the bone; impart
to us — We'll keep the secret — a new trick to
please.
Is there a bridle for this Proteus That turns and changes like his
draughty seas?
Or is there none, most popular of men, But when they mock us that we mock
again?
THESE ARE THE CLOUDS
THESE are the clouds about the fallen
sun, The majesty that shuts his burning
eye; The weak lay hand on what the
strong has done, Till that be tumbled that was lifted
high
And discord follow upon unison, And all things at one common level
lie. And therefore, friend, if your great
race were run And these things came, so much the
more thereby
Have you made greatness your com- panion,
no
THESE ARE THE CLOUDS 111
Although it be for children that you
sigh: These are the clouds about the fallen
sun, The majesty that shuts his burning
eye.
AT GALWAY RACES
THERE where the course is, Delight makes all of the one mind, The riders upon the galloping horses, The crowd that closes in behind: We, too, had good attendance once, Hearers and hearteners of the work; Aye, horsemen for companions, Before the merchant and the clerk Breathed on the world with timid
breath. Sing on: sometime, and at some new
moon,
We'll learn that sleeping is not death, Hearing the whole earth change its
tune,
Its flesh being wild, and it again Crying aloud as the race course is, And we find hearteners among men
That ride upon horses. 112
A FRIEND'S ILLNESS
SICKNESS brought me this Thought, in that scale of his: Why should I be dismayed Though flame had burned the whole World, as it were a coal, Now I have seen it weighed Against a soul?
113
ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME
ALL things can tempt me from this
craft of verse: One time it was a woman's face, or
worse — The seeming needs of my fool-driven
land; Now nothing but comes readier to the
hand Than this accustomed toil. When I
was young,
I had not given a penny for a song Did not the poet sing it with such airs That one believed he had a sword
upstairs; Yet would be now, could I but have
my wish, Colder and dumber and deafer than
a fish.
114
THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG
I WHISPERED, "I am too young/
And then, 'I am old enough;'
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young
man,
If the lady be young and fair.' Ah, penny, brown penny, brown
penny, I am looped in the loops of her
hair.
Oh, love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away,
115
116 THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG
And the shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown
penny, One cannot begin it too soon.
THE HOUR-GLASS NEW VERSION— 1912
117
THE HOUR-GLASS
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
WISE MAN.
BRIDGET, his wife.
TEIGUE, a fool.
ANGEL.
Children and Pupils.
Pupils come in and stand before ike stage curtain, which is still closed. One pupil carries a book.
FIRST PUPIL
He said we might choose the subject for the lesson.
SECOND PUPIL
There is none of us wise enough to do that.
119
120 THE HOUR-GLASS
THIRD PUPIL
It would need a great deal of wisdom to know what it is we want to know.
FOURTH PUPIL I will question him.
FIFTH PUPIL You?
FOURTH PUPIL
Last night I dreamt that some one came and told me to question him. I was to say to him, 'You were wrong to say there is no God and no soul — maybe, if there is not much of either, ijiere is yet some tatters, some tag on the wind — so to speak — some rag upon a bush, some bob-tail of a god.' I will argue with him, — nonsense though it be — according to my dream, and you will see how well I can argue, and what thoughts I have.
THE HOUR-GLASS
FIRST PUPIL
I'd as soon listen to dried peas in a bladder, as listen to your thoughts.
[Fool comes in.
FOOL Give me a penny.
SECOND PUPIL
Let us choose a subject by chance. Here is his big book. Let us turn over the pages slowly. Let one of us put down his finger without looking. The passage his finger lights on will be the subject for the lesson.
FOOL Give me a penny.
THIRD PUPIL
(Taking up book) How heavy it is.
THE HOUR-GLASS
FOURTH PUPIL
Spread it on Teigue's back, and then we can all stand round and see the choice.
SECOND PUPIL Make him spread out his arms.
FOURTH PUPIL
Down on your knees. Hunch up your back. Spread your arms out now, and look like a golden eagle in a church. Keep still, keep still.
FOOL Give me a penny.
THIRD PUPIL
Is that the right cry for an eagle cock?
SECOND PUPIL
I'll turn the pages — you close your eyes and put your finger down.
THE HOUR-GLASS 123
THIRD PUPIL
That's it, and then he cannot blame us for the choice.
FIRST PUPIL
There, I have chosen. Fool, keep still — and if what's wise is strange and sounds like nonsense, we've made a good choice.
FIFTH PUPIL The Master has come.
FOOL
Will anybody give a penny to a fool? [One of the pupils draws back the stagb curtain showing the Master sitting at his desk. There is an hour-glass upon his desk or in a bracket on the wall. One pupil puts the book before him.
FIRST PUPIL
We have chosen the passage for the lesson, Master. 'There are two
124 THE HOUR-GLASS
living countries, one visible and one invisible, and when it is summer there, it is winter here, and when it is Novem- ber with us, it is lambing-time there/
WISE MAN
That passage, that passage! what mischief has there been since yester- day?
FIRST PUPIL None, Master.
WISE MAN
Oh yes, there has; some craziness has fallen from the wind, or risen from the graves of old men, and made you choose that subject.
FOURTH PUPIL
I knew that it was folly, but they would have it.
THE HOUR-GLASS 125
THIRD PUPIL
Had we not better say we picked it by chance?
SECOND PUPIL
No; he would say we were children still.
FIRST PUPIL
I have found a sentence under that one that says — as though to show it had a hidden meaning — a beggar wrote it upon the walls of Babylon.
WISE MAN
Then find some beggar and ask him what it means, for I will have nothing to do with it.
FOURTH PUPIL
Come, Teigue, what is the old book's meaning when it says that there are sheep that drop their lambs in November?
126 THE HOUR-GLASS
FOOL
To be sure — everybody knows, everybody in the world knows, when it is Spring with us, the trees are withering there, when it is Summer with us, the snow is falling there, and have I not myself heard the lambs that are there all bleating on a cold November day — to be sure, does not everybody with an intellect know that; and maybe when it's night with us, it is day with them, for many a time I have seen the roads lighted before me.
WISE MAN
The beggar who wrote that on Babylon wall meant that there is a spiritual kingdom that cannot be seen or known till the faculties whereby we master the kingdom of this world wither away, like green things in winter. A monkish thought, the
THE HOUR-GLASS 127
most mischievous thought that ever passed out of a man's mouth.
FIRST PUPIL
If he meant all that, I will take an oath that he was spindle-shanked, and cross-eyed, and had a lousy itching shoulder, and that his heart was crosser than his eyes, and that he wrote it out of malice.
SECOND PUPIL
Let's come away and find a better subject.
FOURTH PUPIL
And maybe now you'll let me choose.
FIRST PUPIL Come.
WISE MAN
Were it but true 'twould alter every- thing
Until the stream of the world had changed its course,
128 THE HOUR-GLASS
And that and all our thoughts had run Into some cloudy thunderous spring They dream to be its source — Aye, to some frenzy of the mind; And all that we have done would be
undone, Our speculation but as the wind.
[A pause. I have dreamed it twice.
FIRST PUPIL
Something has troubled him. [Pupils go out.
WISE MAN
Twice have I dreamed it in a morning dream,
Now nothing serves my pupils but to come
With a like thought. Reason is grow- ing dim;
A moment more and Frenzy will beat his drum
THE HOUR-GLASS 129
And laugh aloud and scream;
And I must dance in the dream.
No, no, but it is like a hawk, a hawk of
the air, It has swooped down — and this swoop
makes the third — And what can I, but tremble like a
bird?
FOOL Give me a penny.
WISE MAN
That I should dream it twice, and after that, that they should pick it out.
FOOL Won't you give me a penny?
WISE MAN
What do you want? What can it matter to you whether the words I am reading are wisdom or sheer folly?
130 THE HOUR-GLASS
FOOL
Such a great, wise teacher will not refuse a penny to a fool.
WISE MAN
Seeing that everybody is a fool when he is asleep and dreaming, why do you call me wise?
FOOL
O, I know, — I know, I know what I have seen.
WISE MAN
Well, to see rightly is the whole of wisdom, whatever dream be with us.
FOOL
When I went by Kilcluan, where the bells used to be ringing at the break of every day, I could hear noth- ing but the people snoring in their houses. When I went by Tubber-
THE HOUR-GLASS 131
vanach, where the young men used to be climbing the hill to the blessed well, they were sitting at the cross- roads playing cards. When I went by Carrigoras, where the friars used to be fasting and serving the poor, I saw them drinking wine and obeying their wives. And when I asked what misfortune had brought all these changes, they said it was no mis- fortune, but that it was the wisdom they had learned from your teaching.
WISE MAN
And you too have called me wise — you would be paid for that good opinion doubtless — Run to the kitchen, my wife will give you food and drink.
FOOL
That's foolish advice for a wise man to give.
132 THE HOUR-GLASS
WISE MAN Why, Fool?
FOOL
What is eaten is gone — I want pennies for my bag. I must buy bacon in the shops, and nuts in the market, and strong drink for the time the sun is weak, and snares to catch the rabbits and the hares, and a big pot to cook them in.
WISE MAN
I have more to think about than giving pennies to your like, so run away.
FOOL
Give me a penny and I will bring you luck. The fishermen let me sleep among their nets in the loft because I bring them luck; and in the summer time, the wild creatures let me sleep near their nests and their holes. It
THE HOUR-GLASS 133
is lucky even to look at me, but it is much more lucky to give me a penny. If I was not lucky I would starve.
WISE MAN What are the shears for?
FOOL
I won't tell you. If I told you, you would drive them away.
WISE MAN
Drive them away! Who would I drive away?
FOOL
I won't tell you.
WISE MAN Not if I give you a penny?
FOOL No.
WISE MAN
Not if I give you two pennies?
134 THE HOUR-GLASS
FOOL
You will be very lucky if you give me two pennies, but I won't tell you.
WISE MAN Three pennies?
FOOL Four, and I will tell you.
WISE MAN
Very well — four, but from this out I will not call you Teigue the Fool.
FOOL
Let me come close to you, where nobody will hear me; but first you must promise not to drive them away. (Wise Man nods.) Every day men go out dressed in black and spread great black nets over the hills, great black nets.
THE HOUR-GLASS 135
WISE MAN A strange place that to fish in,
FOOL
They spread them out on the hills that they may catch the feet of the angels; but every morning just before the dawn, I go out and cut the nets with the shears and the angels fly away.
WISE MAN
(Speaking with excitement) Ah, now I know that you are Teigue the Fool. You say that I am wise, and yet I say, there are no angels.
FOOL I have seen plenty of angels.
WISE MAN No, no, you have not.
136 THE HOUR-GLASS
FOOL
They are plenty if you but look about you. They are like the blades of grass.
WISE MAN
They are plenty as the blades of grass — I heard that phrase when I was but a child and was told folly.
FOOL
When one gets quiet. When one is so quiet that there is not a thought in one's head maybe, there is some- thing that wakes up inside one, some- thing happy and quiet, and then all in a minute one can smell summer flowers, and tall people go by, happy and laughing, but they will not let us look at their faces. Oh no, it is not right that we should look at their faces.
THE HOUR-GLASS 137
WISE MAN
You have fallen asleep upon a hill, yet, even those that used to dream of angels dream now of other things.
FOOL
I saw one but a moment ago — that is because I am lucky. It was coming behind me, but it was not laughing.
WISE MAN
There's nothing but what men can see when they are awake. Nothing, nothing.
FOOL I knew you would drive them away.
WISE MAN Pardon me, Fool, I had forgotten who I spoke to. Well, there are your four pennies — Fool you are called,
138 THE HOUR-GLASS
And all day long they cry, 'Come hither, Fool.'
[The Fool goes close to him. Or else it's, 'Fool, be gone.'
[The Fool goes further off. Or, 'Fool, stand there.'
[The Fool straightens himself up. Or, 'Fool, go sit in the corner.'
[The Fool sits in the corner.
And all the while
What were they all but fools before I
came? What are they now, but mirrors that
seem men,
Because of my image? Fool, hold up
your head. [Fool does so.
What foolish stories they have told of
the ghosts That fumbled with the clothes upon
the bed,
Or creaked and shuffled in the corridor, Or else, if they were pious bred, Of angels from the skies,
THE HOUR-GLASS 139
That coming through the door, Or, it may be, standing there, Would solidly out stare The steadiest eyes with their un- natural eyes, Aye, on a man's own floor.
[An angel has come in. It should be played by a man if a man can be found with the right voice, and may wear a little golden domino and a halo made of metal. Or the whole face may be a beautiful mask, in which case the last sentence on page 136 should not be spoken. Yet it is strange, the strangest thing
I have known, That I should still be haunted by the
notion That there's a crisis of the spirit
wherein
We get new sight, and that they know some trick
140 THE HOUR-GLASS
To turn our thoughts for their own
ends to frenzy.
Why do you put your finger to your lip, And creep away? [Fool goes out.
(Wise Man sees Angel.) What are
you? Who are you? I think I saw some like you in my
dreams, When but a child. That thing about
your head, — That brightness in your hair — that
flowery branch; But I have done with dreams, I have
done with dreams.
ANGEL
I am the crafty one that you have called.
WISE MAN How that I called?
ANGEL I am the messenger.
THE HOUR-GLASS 141 WISE MAN
What message could you bring to one like me?
ANGEL (turning the hour-glass)
That you will die when the last grain
of sand Has fallen through this glass.
WISE MAN
I have a wife. Children and pupils that I cannot
leave: Why must I die, my time is far away?
ANGEL
You have to die because no soul has
passed The heavenly threshold since you have
opened school, But grass grows there, and rust upon
the hinge;
142 THE HOUR-GLASS
And they are lonely that must keep the watch.
WISE MAN
And whither shall I go when I am dead?
ANGEL
You have denied there is a purgatory, Therefore that gate is closed; you
have denied There is a heaven, and so that gate is
closed.
WISE MAN
Where then? For I have said there is no hell.
ANGEL
Hell is the place of those who have
denied; They find there what they planted and
what dug,
THE HOUR-GLASS 143
A Lake of Spaces, and a Wood of
Nothing, And wander there and drift, and never
cease Wailing for substance.
WISE MAN
Pardon me, blessed Angel, I have denied and taught the like to
others. But how could I believe before my
sight Had come to me?
ANGEL It is too late for pardon.
WISE MAN
Had I but met your gaze as now I
met it — But how can you that live but where
we go In the uncertainty of dizzy dreams
144 THE HOUR-GLASS
Know why we doubt? Parting, sick- ness and death, The rotting of the grass, tempest and
drouth, These are the messengers that came
to me. Why are you silent? You carry in
your hands God's pardon, and you will not give it
me. Why are you silent? Were I not
afraid, I'd kiss your hands — no, no, the hem
of your dress.
ANGEL
Only when all the world has testified, May soul confound it, crying out in joy, And laughing on its lonely precipice. What's dearth and death and sickness
to the soul That knows no virtue but itself? Nor
could it,
THE HOUR-GLASS 145
So trembling with delight and mother- naked,
Live unabashed if the arguing world stood by.
WISE MAN
It is as hard for you to understand Why we have doubted, as it is for us To banish doubt — what folly have I
said? There can be nothing that you do not
know: Give me a year — a month — a week —
a day, I would undo what I have done — an
hour — Give me until the sand has run in the
glass.
ANGEL Though you may not undo what you
have done, I have this power — if you but find one
soul,
146 THE HOUR-GLASS
Before the sands have fallen, that still
believes, One fish to lie and spawn among the
stones
Till the great fisher's net is full again, You may, the purgatorial fire being
passed, Spring to your peace.
[Pupils sing in the distance. "Who stole your wits away And where are they gone?'
WISE MAN
My pupils come, Before you have begun to climb the
sky I shall have found that soul. They
say they doubt, But what their mothers dinned into
their ears
Cannot have been so lightly rooted up; Besides, I can disprove what I once
proved —
THE HOUR-GLASS 147
And yet give me some thought, some
argument, More mighty than my own.
ANGEL
Farewell — farewell,
For I am weary of the weight of time. [Angel goes out. Wise Man makes a step to follow and pauses. Some of his pupils come in at the other side of the stage.
FIRST PUPIL
Master, master, you must choose the
subject.
[Enter other pupils with Fool, about whom they dance; all the pupils may have little cushions on which presently they seat themselves.
148 THE HOUR-GLASS
SECOND PUPIL
Here is a subject— where have the
Fool's wits gone? (singing) 'Who dragged your wits away Where no one knows? Or have they run off On their own pair of shoes?'
FOOL Give me a penny.
FIRST PUPIL The Master will find your wits,
SECOND PUPIL
And when they are found, you must not beg for pennies.
THIRD PUPIL
They are hidden somewhere in the
badger's hole,
But you must carry an old candle end If you would find them.
THE HOUR-GLASS 149
FOURTH PUPIL They are up above the clouds.
FOOL Give me a penny, give me a penny.
FIRST PUPIL (singing) 'I'll find your wits again, Come, for I saw them roll, To where old badger mumbles In the black hole.'
SECOND PUPIL (singing) 'No, but an angel stole them The night that you were born, And now they are but a rag, On the moon's horn.'
WISE MAN Be silent.
FIRST PUPIL
Can you not see that he is troubled? [All the pupils are seated.
150 THE HOUR-GLASS
WISE MAN What do you think of when alone at
night? Do not the things your mothers spoke
about, Before they took the candle from the
bedside,
Rush up into the mind and master it, Till you believe in them against your
will?
SECOND PUPIL (to first pupil) You answer for us.
THIRD PUPIL (in a whisper to first
pupil)
Be careful what you say; If he persuades you to an argument, He will but turn us all to mockery.
FIRST PUPIL
We had no minds until you made them for us;
THE HOUR-GLASS 151
Our bodies only were our mothers' work.
WISE MAN You answer with incredible things.
It is certain That there is one, — though it may be
but one — Believes in God and in some heaven
and hell — In all those things we put into our
prayers.
FIRST PUPIL We thought those things before our
minds were born, But that was long ago — we are not
children.
WISE MAN
You are afraid to tell me what you think Because I am hot and angry when I
am crossed. I do not blame you for it; but have
no fear,
152 THE HOUR-GLASS
For if there's one that sat on smiling
there, As though my arguments were sweet
as milk Yet found them bitter, I will thank
him for it, If he but speak his mind.
FIRST PUPIL
There is no one, Master, There is not one but found them sweet as milk.
WISE MAN The things that have been told us in
our childhood Are not so fragile.
SECOND PUPIL
We are no longer children.
THIRD PUPIL
We all believe in you and in what you have taught.
THE HOUR-GLASS 153
OTHER PUPILS All, all, all, all, in you, nothing but
you,
WISE MAN
I have deceived you — where shall I go
for words — I have no thoughts — my mind has
been swept bare. The messengers that stand in the fiery
cloud, Fling themselves out, if we but dare
to question,
And after that, the Babylonian moon Blots all away.
FIRST PUPIL (to other pupils)
I take his words to mean That visionaries, and martyrs when
they are raised Above translunary things, and there
enlightened,
154 THE HOUR-GLASS
As the contention is, may lose the
light, And flounder in their speech when
the eyes open.
SECOND PUPIL
How well he imitates their trick of speech.
THIRD PUPIL Their air of mystery.
FOURTH PUPIL
Their empty gaze, As though they'd looked upon some
winged thing, And would not condescend to mankind
after.
FIRST PUPIL Master, we have all learnt that truth
is learnt When the intellect's deliberate and
cold,
THE HOUR-GLASS 155
As it were a polished mirror that re- flects
An unchanged world; and not when the steel melts,
Bubbling and hissing, till there's naught but fume.
WISE MAN
When it is melted, when it all fumes up, They walk, as when beside those three
in the furnace The form of the fourth.
FIRST PUPIL
Master, there's none among us That has not heard your mockery of
these, Or thoughts like these, and we have
not forgot.
WISE MAN
Something incredible has happened — some one has come
156 THE HOUR-GLASS
Suddenly like a grey hawk out of the
air, And all that I declared untrue is
true.
FIRST PUPIL (to other pupils)
You'd think the way he says it, that
he felt it. There's not a mummer to compare
with him. He's something like a man.
SECOND PUPIL
Give us some proof.
WISE MAN What proof have I to give, but that
an angel An instant ago was standing on that
spot. [The pupils rise.
THIRD PUPIL You dreamed it.
THE HOUR-GLASS 157
WISE MAN I was awake as I am now.
FIRST PUPIL (to the others)
I may be dreaming now for all I know. He wants to show we have no certain
proof Of anything in the world.
SECOND PUPIL
There is this proof That shows we are awake — we have all
one world While every dreamer has a world of
his own, And sees what no one else can.
THIRD PUPIL
Teigue sees angels. So when the Master says he has seen
an angel, He may have seen one.
158 THE HOUR-GLASS
FIRST PUPIL
Both may still be dreamers; Unless it's proved the angels were alike.
SECOND PUPIL What sort are the angels, Teigue?
THIRD PUPIL
That will prove nothing, Unless we are sure prolonged obedience Has made one angel like another angel As they were eggs.
FIRST PUPIL
The Master's silent now: For he has found that to dispute with
us — Seeing that he has taught us what we
know — Is but to reason with himself. Let us
away, And find if there is one believer left.
THE HOUR-GLASS 159
WISE MAN Yes, yes. Find me but one that still
believes The things that we were told when
we were children.
THIRD PUPIL He'll mock and maul him.
FOURTH PUPIL
From the first I knew He wanted somebody to argue with.
[They go.
WISE MAN
I have no reason left. All dark, all dark!
[Pupils return laughing. They push forward fourth pupil.
FIRST PUPIL
Here, Master, is the very man you want.
160 THE HOUR-GLASS
He said, when we were studying the
book, That maybe after all the monks were
right, And you mistaken, and if we but gave
him time, He'd prove that it was so.
FOURTH PUPIL
I never said it.
WISE MAN
Dear friend, dear friend, do you be- lieve in God?
FOURTH PUPIL
Master, they have invented this to mock me.
WISE MAN You are afraid of me.
THE HOUR-GLASS 161
FOURTH PUPIL
They know well, Master, That all I said was but to make them
argue. They've pushed me in to make a mock
of me, Because they knew I could take either
side And beat them at it.
WISE MAN
If you believe in God, You are my soul's one friend.
[Pupils laugh. Mistress or wife
Can give us but our good or evil luck Amid the howling world, but you shall
give Eternity, and those sweet-throated
things That drift above the moon.
[The pupils look at one another and are silent.
162 THE HOUR-GLASS
SECOND PUPIL
How strange he is.
WISE MAN The angel that stood there upon that
spot, Said that my soul was lost unless I
found out One that believed.
FOURTH PUPIL
Cease mocking at me, Master, For I am certain that there is no God Nor immortality, and they that said it Made a fantastic tale from a starved
dream
To plague our hearts. Will that con- tent you, Master?
WISE MAN
The giddy glass is emptier every moment,
And you stand there, debating, laugh- ing and wrangling.
THE HOUR-GLASS 163
Out of my sight! Out of my sight, I
say. [He drives them out.
I'll call my wife, for what can women
do, That carry us in the darkness of their
bodies, But mock the reason that lets nothing
grow Unless it grow in light. Bridget,
Bridget.
A woman never ceases to believe, Say what we will. Bridget, come
quickly, Bridget.
[Bridget comes in wearing her
apron. Her sleeves turned up
from her arms, which are
covered with flour.
Wife, what do you believe in? Tell
me the truth, And not — as is the habit with you
all- Something you think will please me.
Do you pray?
164 THE HOUR-GLASS
Sometimes when you're alone in the house, do you pray?
BRIDGET
Prayers — no, you taught me to leave them off long ago. At first I was sorry, but I am glad now, for I am sleepy in the evenings.
WISE MAN Do you believe in God?
BRIDGET
Oh, a good wife only believes in what her husband tells her.
WISE MAN But sometimes, when the children are
asleep And I am in the school, do you not
think About the Martyrs and the saints and
the angels,
THE HOUR-GLASS 165
And all the things that you believed in once?
BRIDGET
I think about nothing — sometimes I wonder if the linen is bleaching white, or I go out to see if the crows are picking up the chickens' food.
WISE MAN My God, — my God! I will go out
myself. My pupils said that they would find a
man Whose faith I never shook — they may
have found him.
Therefore I will go out — but if I go, The glass will let the sands run out
unseen.
I cannot go — I cannot leave the glass. Go call my pupils — I can explain all
now, Only when all our hold on life is
troubled,
166 THE HOUR-GLASS
Only in spiritual terror can the Truth Come through the broken mind — as
the pease burst Out of a broken pease-cod.
[He clutches Bridget as she is going.
Say to them, That Nature would lack all in her
most need, Could not the soul find truth as in a
flash,
Upon the battle-field, or in the midst Of overwhelming waves, and say to
them — But no, they would but answer as I bid.
BRIDGET
You want somebody to get up an argument with.
WISE MAN
Look out and see if there is any one There in the street — I cannot leave the glass,
THE HOUR-GLASS 167
For somebody might shake it, and the
sand If it were shaken might run down on
the instant.
BRIDGET
I don't understand a word you are saying. There's a crowd of people talking to your pupils.
WISE MAN
Go out and find if they have found a
man Who did not understand me when I
taught, Or did not listen.
BRIDGET
It is a hard thing to be married to a man of learning that must always be having arguments. [She goes out.
168 THE HOUR-GLASS
WISE MAN Strange that I should be blind to the
great secret, And that so simple a man might write
it out
Upon a blade of grass or bit of rush With naught but berry juice, and
laugh to himself Writing it out, because it was so
simple.
[Enter Bridget followed by the Fool.
FOOL
Give me something; give me a penny to buy bacon in the shops and nuts in the market, and strong drink for the time when the sun is weak.
BRIDGET
I have no pennies. (To Wise Man) Your pupils cannot find anybody to argue with you. There's nobody in
THE HOUR-GLASS 169
the whole country with belief enough for a lover's oath. Can't you be quiet now, and not always wanting to have arguments? It must be terrible to have a mind like that.
WISE MAN Then I am lost indeed.
BRIDGET
Leave me alone now, I have to make the bread for you and the children. [She goes into kitchen.
WISE MAN Children, children!
BRIDGET
Your father wants you, run to him. [Children run in.
WISE MAN
Come to me, children. Do not be afraid.
170 THE HOUR-GLASS
I want to know if you believe in
Heaven, God or the soul — no, do not tell me
yet; You need not be afraid I shall be.
angry, Say what you please — so that it is
your thought — I wanted you to know before you
spoke, That I shall not be angry.
FIRST CHILD We have not forgotten, Father.
SECOND CHILD Oh no, Father.
BOTH CHILDREN
(As if repeating a lesson) There is nothing we cannot see, nothing we cannot touch.
THE HOUR-GLASS 171
FIRST CHILD
Foolish people used to say that there was, but you have taught us better.
WISE MAN
Go to your mother, go — yet do not go. What can she say? If I am dumb you
are lost;
And yet, because the sands are run- ning out, I have but a moment to show it all
in. Children, The sap would die out of the blades of
grass Had they a doubt. They understand
it all,
Being the fingers of God's certainty, Yet can but make their sign into the
air; But could they find their tongues
they'd show it all; But what am I to say that am but one,
172 THE HOUR-GLASS
When they are millions and they will
not speak —
[Children have run out. But they are gone; what made them
run away?
[The Fool comes in with a dan- delion Look at me, tell me if my face is
changed, Is there a notch of the fiend's nail
upon it
Already? Is it terrible to sight? Because the moment's near.
[Going to glass.
I dare not look,
I dare not know the moment when
they come. No, no, I dare not. (Covers glass.)
Will there be a footfall, Or will there be a sort of rending
sound, Or else a cracking, as though an iron
claw
THE HOUR-GLASS 173
Had gripped the threshold stone?
[Fool has begun to blow the dan- delion.
What are you doing?
FOOL Wait a minute — four — five — six —
WISE MAN What are you doing that for?
FOOL
I am blowing the dandelion to find out what hour it is.
WISE MAN You have heard everything, and that
is why You'd find what hour it is — you'd find
that out, That you may look upon a fleet of
devils Dragging my soul away. You shall
not stop,
174 THE HOUR-GLASS
I will have no one here when they come in,
I will have no one sitting there — no one —
And yet — and yet — there is some- thing strange about you.
I half remember something. What is it?
Do you believe in God and in the soul?
FOOL
So you ask me now. I thought when you were asking your pupils, 'Will he ask Teigue the Fool? Yes, he will, he will; no, he will not — yes, he will/ But Teigue will say nothing. Teigue will say nothing.
WISE MAN Tell me quickly.
FOOL I said, 'Teigue knows everything, not
THE HOUR-GLASS 175
even the green-eyed cats and the hares that milk the cows have Teigue's wis- dom'; but Teigue will not speak, he says nothing.
WISE MAN
Speak, speak, for underneath the cover
there The sand is running from the upper
glass, And when the last grain's through, I
shall be lost.
FOOL
I will not speak. I will not tell you what is in my mind. I will not tell you what is in my bag. You might steal away my thoughts. I met a bodach on the road yesterday, and he said, 'Teigue, tell me how many pennies are in your bag; I will wager three pennies that there are
176 THE HOUR-GLASS
not twenty pennies in your bag; let me put in my hand and count them.' But I gripped the bag the tighter, and when I go to sleep at night I hide the bag where nobody knows.
WISE MAN
There's but one pinch of sand, and I
am lost If you are not he I seek.
FOOL
O, what a lot the Fool knows, but he says nothing.
WISE MAN
Yes, I remember now. You spoke of
angels. You said but now that you had seen
an angel. You are the one I seek, and I am saved.
THE HOUR-GLASS 177
FOOL
Oh no. How could poor Teigue see angels? Oh, Teigue tells one tale here, another there, and everybody gives him pennies. If Teigue had not his tales he would starve.
[He breaks away and goes out.
WISE MAN
The last hope is gone, And now that it's too late I see it all, We perish into God and sink away Into reality — the rest's a dream.
[The Fool comes back.
FOOL
There was one there — there by the threshold stone, waiting there; and he said, 'Go in, Teigue, and tell him everything that he asks you. He will give you a penny if you tell him.'
178 THE HOUR-GLASS
WISE MAN
I know enough, that know God's will prevails.
FOOL
Waiting till the moment had come — That is what the one out there was saying, but I might tell you what you asked. That is what he was saying.
WISE MAN
Be silent. May God's will prevail on
the instant,
Although His will be my eternal pain. I have no question: It is enough, I know what fixed the
station
Of star and cloud. And knowing all, I cry That what so God has willed On the instant be fulfilled, Though that be my damnation.
THE HOUR-GLASS 179
The stream of the world has changed
its course, And with the stream my thoughts
have run
Into some cloudy thunderous spring That is its mountain source — Aye, to some frenzy of the mind, For all that we have done's undone, Our speculation but as the wind.
[He dies. FOOL
Wise man — Wise man, wake up and I will tell you everything for a penny. It is I, poor Teigue the Fool. Why don't you wake up, and say, 'There is a penny for you, Teigue'? No, no, you will say nothing. You and I, we are the two fools, we know everything, but we will not speak.
[Angel enters holding a casket.
O, look what has come from his mouth! O, look what has come from his mouth — the white butterfly! He
180 THE HOUR-GLASS
is dead, and I have taken his soul in my hands; but I know why you open the lid of that golden box. I must give it to you. There then, (he puts butterfly in casket} he has gone through his pains, and you will open the lid in the Garden of Paradise. (He closes curtain and remains outside it.) He is gone, he is gone, he is gone, but come in, everybody in the world, and look at me.
'I hear the wind a blow I hear the grass a grow, And all that I know, I know.' But I will not speak, I will run away.
[He goes out.
NOTES
181
NOTES
PREFATORY POEM
'FREE of the ten and four' is an error I cannot now correct, without more rewriting than I have a mind for. Some merchant in Villon, I forget the reference, was 'free of the ten and four.' Irish merchants exempted from certain duties by the Irish Parliament were, unless memory deceives me again for I am writing away from books, 'free of the eight and six.' POEMS BEGINNING WITH THAT 'To A WEALTHY MAN' AND ENDING WITH THAT 'To A SHADE '
During the thirty years or so during which I have been reading Irish newspapers, three public controversies have stirred my imagina- tion. The first was the Parnell controversy. There were reasons to justify a man's joining either party, but there were none to justify, on one side or on the other, lying accusations forgetful of past service, a frenzy of detraction. And another was the dispute over 'The Playboy.' There were reasons for opposing as for supporting that violent, laughing thing, 183
184 NOTES
but none for the lies, for the unscrupulous rhetoric spread against it in Ireland, and from Ireland to America. The third prepared for the Corporation's refusal of a building for Sir Hugh Lane's famous collection of pictures.
One could respect the argument that Dublin, with much poverty and many slums, could not afford the £22,000 the building was to cost the city, but not the minds that used it. One frenzied man compared the pictures to Troy horse which * destroyed a city,' and innumer- able correspondents described Sir Hugh Lane and those who had subscribed many thousands to give Dublin paintings by Corot, Manet, Monet, Degas, and Renoir, as * self -seekers,' 'self -advertisers,' * picture-dealers,' 'log-roll- ing cranks and faddists,' and one clerical paper told 'picture-dealer Lane' to take himself and his pictures out of that. A member of the Corporation said there were Irish artists who could paint as good if they had a mind to, and another described a half- hour in the temporary gallery in Harcourt Street as the most dismal of his life. Some one else asked instead of these eccentric pictures to be given pictures ' like those beauti- ful productions displayed in the windows of our city picture shops.' Another thought that we would all be more patriotic if we
NOTES 185
devoted our energy to fighting the Insurance Act. Another would not hang them in his kitchen, while yet another described the vogue of French impressionist painting as having gone to such a length among * log-rolling enthusiasts* that they even admired 'works that were rejected from the Salon forty years ago by the finest critics in the world.'
The first serious opposition began in the Irish Catholic, the chief Dublin clerical paper, and Mr. William Murphy, the organiser of the recent lock-out and Mr. Healy's financial supporter in his attack upon Parnell, a man of great influence, brought to its support a few days later his newspapers The Evening Herald and The Irish Independent, the most popular of Irish daily papers. He replied to I my poem ' To a Wealthy Man ' (I was thinking of a very different wealthy man) from what he described as 'Paudeen's point of view/ and 'Paudeen's point of view* it was. The en- thusiasm for 'Sir Hugh Lane's Corots' — one paper spelled the name repeatedly 'Grot* — being but 'an exotic fashion,' waited 'some satirist like Gilbert' who 'killed the aesthetic craze,' and as for the rest 'there were no greater humbugs in the world than art critics and so- called experts.' As the first avowed reason for opposition, the necessities of the poor got
186 NOTES
but a few lines, not so many certainly as the objection of various persons to supply Sir Hugh Lane with *a monument at the city's expense/ and as the gallery was supported by Mr. James Larkin, the chief Labour leader, and important slum workers, I assume that the purpose of the opposition was not exclusively charitable.
These controversies, political, literary, and artistic, have showed that neither religion nor politics can of itself create minds with enough receptivity to become wise, or just and generous enough to make a nation. Other cities have been as stupid — Samuel Butler laughs at shocked Montreal for hiding the Discobolus in a cellar — but Dublin is the capital of a nation, and an ancient race has nowhere else to look for an education. Goethe in Wilhelm Meister describes a saintly and naturally gracious woman, who getting into a quarrel over some trumpery detail of religious observ- ance, grows — she and all her little religious community — angry and vindictive. In Ireland I am constantly reminded of that fable of the futility of all discipline that is not of the whole being. Religious Ireland — and the pious Protestants of my childhood were signal examples — thinks of divine things as a round of duties separated from life and not as an
NOTES 187
element that may be discovered in all circum- stance and emotion, while political Ireland sees the good citizen but as a man who holds to certain opinions and not as a man of good will. Against all this we have but a few educated men and the remnants of an old traditional culture among the poor. Both were stronger forty years ago, before the rise of our new middle class which showed as its first public event, during the nine years of the Parnellite split, how base at moments of excite- ment are minds without culture. 1914.
* Romantic Ireland's dead and gone' sounds old-fashioned now. It seemed true in 1913, but I did not foresee 1916. The late Dublin Rebellion, whatever one can say of its wisdom, will long be remembered for its heroism. * They weighed so lightly what they gave,' and gave too in some cases without hope of success. July 1916.
THE DOLLS
The fable for this poem came into my head while I was giving some lectures in Dublin. I had noticed once again how all thought among us is frozen into * something other than human life.' After I had made the poem, I looked up one day into the blue of the sky, and suddenly imagined, as if lost in the blue of the sky, stiff
188 NOTES
figures in procession. I remembered that they were the habitual image suggested by blue sky, and looking for a second fable called them 'The Magi', complimentary forms to those enraged dolls.
THE HOUR-GLASS
A friend suggested to me the subject of this play, an Irish folk-tale from Lady Wilde's Ancient Legends. I have for years struggled with something which is charming in the naive legend but a platitude on the stage. I did not discover till a year ago that if the wise man humbled himself to the fool and received salvation as his reward, so much more powerful are pictures than words, no explanatory dialogue could set the matter right. I was faintly pleased when I converted a music-hall singer and kept him going to Mass for six weeks, so little responsibility does one feel for those to whom one has never been intro- duced; but I was always ashamed when I saw any friend of my own in the theatre. Now I have made my philosopher accept God's will, whatever it is, and find his courage again, and helped by the elaboration of verse, have so changed the fable that it is not false to my own thoughts of the world.
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