Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart.
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart.
Yeats
[_The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms,
some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights. _
Come you--and you--and you, and lift these bags.
A SPIRIT.
We are too violent; mere shapes of storm.
FIRST MERCHANT.
Come you--and you--and you, and lift these bags.
A SPIRIT.
We are too feeble, fading out of life.
FIRST MERCHANT.
Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,
And still wear human shape: the shape of power.
[_The two robbing peasants of the last scene come
forward. Their faces have withered from much pain. _
Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.
FIRST PEASANT.
Yes, yes!
Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart. At moments, now and then,
When plunged in horror, brooding each alone,
A memory of her face floats in on us.
It brings a crowned misery, half repose,
And we wail one to other; we obey,
For heaven's many-angled star reversed,
Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts.
FIRST MERCHANT.
When these pale sapphires and these diadems
And these small bags of money are in our house,
The burning shall give over--now begone.
SECOND MERCHANT.
[_Lifting the diadem to put it upon his head. _]
No--no--no. I will carry the diadem.
FIRST MERCHANT.
No, brother, not yet.
For none can carry her treasures wholly away
But spirits that are too light for good and evil,
Or, being evil, can remember good.
Begone! [_The spirits vanish. _] I bade them go, for they are lonely,
And when they see aught living love to sigh.
[_Pointing to the oratory.
