No More Learning

I remember I have heard you boast,
When the ale was in your blood, that there was one
In Scotland, where you had learnt the trade of war,
That had a stone-pale cheek and red-brown hair.
And that although you had loved other women,
You'd sooner that fierce woman of the camp
Bore you a son than any queen among them.

CUCHULAIN.

You call her a 'fierce woman of the camp,'
For having lived among the spinning-wheels,
You'd have no woman near that would not say,
'Ah! how wise! ' 'What will you have for supper? '
'What shall I wear that I may please you, sir? '
And keep that humming through the day and night
Forever. A fierce woman of the camp!
But I am getting angry about nothing.
You have never seen her. Ah! Conchubar, had you seen her
With that high, laughing, turbulent head of hers
Thrown backward, and the bow-string at her ear,
Or sitting at the fire with those grave eyes
Full of good counsel as it were with wine,
Or when love ran through all the lineaments
Of her wild body--although she had no child,
None other had all beauty, queen, or lover,
Or was so fitted to give birth to kings.

CONCHUBAR.

There's nothing I can say but drifts you farther
From the one weighty matter.
That very woman--
For I know well that you are praising Aoife--
Now hates you and will leave no subtilty
Unknotted that might run into a noose
About your throat, no army in idleness
That might bring ruin on this land you serve.

CUCHULAIN.

No wonder in that, no wonder at all in that.
I never have known love but as a kiss
In the mid-battle, and a difficult truce
Of oil and water, candles and dark night,
Hillside and hollow, the hot-footed sun,
And the cold, sliding, slippery-footed moon--
A brief forgiveness between opposites
That have been hatreds for three times the age
Of this long-'stablished ground.

CONCHUBAR.

Listen to me.
Aoife makes war on us, and every day
Our enemies grow greater and beat the walls
More bitterly, and you within the walls
Are every day more turbulent; and yet,
When I would speak about these things, your fancy
Runs as it were a swallow on the wind.

[_Outside the door in the blue light of the sea mist
are many old and young KINGS; amongst them are three
WOMEN, two of whom carry a bowl full of fire. The
third, in what follows, puts from time to time fragrant
herbs into the fire so that it flickers up into
brighter flame. _

Look at the door and what men gather there--
Old counsellors that steer the land with me,
And younger kings, the dancers and harp-players
That follow in your tumults, and all these
Are held there by the one anxiety.
Will you be bound into obedience
And so make this land safe for them and theirs?
You are but half a king and I but half;
I need your might of hand and burning heart,
And you my wisdom.

CUCHULAIN.

[_Going near to door. _]

Nestlings of a high nest,
Hawks that have followed me into the air
And looked upon the sun, we'll out of this
And sail upon the wind once more. This king
Would have me take an oath to do his will,
And having listened to his tune from morning,
I will no more of it.