No More Learning

[_The musicians begin to tune their instruments. _

Do not blame me,
Good woman, for the tympan and the harp:
I was bid fly the terror of the times
And wrap me round with music and sweet song
Or else pine to my grave. I have lost my way;
Aleel, the poet, who should know these woods,
Because we met him on their border but now
Wandering and singing like the foam of the sea,
Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come
That he can give no help.

MAIRE.

[_Going to the door with her. _]

You're almost there.
There is a trodden way among the hazels
That brings your servants to their marketing.

ALEEL.

When we are gone draw to the door and the bolt,
For, till we lost them half an hour ago,
Two gray horned owls hooted above our heads
Of terrors to come. Tympan and harp awake!
For though the world drift from us like a sigh,
Music is master of all under the moon;
And play 'The Wind that blows by Cummen Strand. '

[_Music. _

[_Sings. _]

_Impetuous heart, be still, be still:
Your sorrowful love may never be told;
Cover it up with a lonely tune.
He who could bend all things to His will
Has covered the door of the infinite fold
With the pale stars and the wandering moon.
_

[_While he is singing the COUNTESS CATHLEEN, OONA, and
the musicians go out. _

ALEEL.

Shut to the door and shut the woods away,
For, till they had vanished in the thick of the leaves,
Two gray horned owls hooted above our heads.

[_He goes out. _

MAIRE.

[_Bolting the door. _]

When wealthy and wise folk wander from their peace
And fear wood things, poor folk may draw the bolt
And pray before the fire.

[_SHEMUS counts out the money, and rings a piece upon
the table. _

SHEMUS.

The Mother of God,
Hushed by the waving of the immortal wings,
Has dropped in a doze and cannot hear the poor:
I passed by Margaret Nolan's; for nine days
Her mouth was green with dock and dandelion;
And now they wake her.

MAIRE.

I will go the next;
Our parents' cabins bordered the same field.

SHEMUS.

God, and the Mother of God, have dropped asleep,
For they are weary of the prayers and candles;
But Satan pours the famine from his bag,
And I am mindful to go pray to him
To cover all this table with red gold.
Teig, will you dare me to it?

TEIG.