No More Learning

I will throw down the trumpet and the harp,
For how could I sing verses or make music
With none to praise me, and a broken heart?

SEANCHAN.

What was it that the poets promised you,
If it was not their sorrow? Do not speak.
Have I not opened school on these bare steps,
And are not you the youngest of my scholars?
And I would have all know that when all falls
In ruin, poetry calls out in joy,
Being the scattering hand, the bursting pod,
The victim's joy among the holy flame,
God's laughter at the shattering of the world.
And now that joy laughs out, and weeps and burns
On these bare steps.

YOUNGEST PUPIL.

O master, do not die!

OLDEST PUPIL.

Trouble him with no useless argument.
Be silent! There is nothing we can do
Except find out the King and kneel to him,
And beg our ancient right.
For here are some
To say whatever we could say and more,
And fare as badly. Come, boy, that is no use.
[_Raises YOUNGEST PUPIL. _

If it seem well that we beseech the King,
Lay down your harps and trumpets on the stones
In silence, and come with me silently.
Come with slow footfalls, and bow all your heads,
For a bowed head becomes a mourner best.

[_They lay harps and trumpets down one by one, and then
go out very solemnly and slowly, following one another.
Enter MAYOR, TWO CRIPPLES, and BRIAN, an old servant.
The mayor, who has been heard, before he came upon
the stage, muttering _'Chief Poet,' 'Ireland,' etc. _,
crosses in front of SEANCHAN to the other side of the
steps. BRIAN takes food out of basket. The CRIPPLES are
watching the basket. The MAYOR has an Ogham stick in
his hand. _

MAYOR.

[_As he crosses. _]

'Chief Poet,' 'Ireland,' 'Townsman,' 'Grazing land,'
Those are the words I have to keep in mind--
'Chief Poet,' 'Ireland,' 'Townsman,' 'Grazing land. '
I have the words. They are all upon the Ogham.
'Chief Poet,' 'Ireland,' 'Townsman,' 'Grazing land.