{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5168/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5168","id":"gutenberg_5168","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5168","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Fairy plays","Ireland -- Drama","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"Produced by Marjorie Fulton\n\n\n\n\n\n                        THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE\n                                    BY\n                                W. B. YEATS\n\n                                   1912\n\nFirst Edition ............................ 1894\nSecond Edition (in \"Poems\" by W. B. Yeats) 1895\nThird Edition        ,,          ,,        1899\nFourth Edition       ,,          ,,        1901\nFifth Edition        ,,          ,,        1904\nSixth Edition        ,,          ,,        1908\nSeventh Edition (revised) ................ 1912\n\n(All rights reserved.)\n\n                                    To\n                               FLORENCE FARR\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n       THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE\n\n\n            O Rose, thou art sick.\n                     WILLIAM BLAKE\n\n\n\n\nMAURTEEN BRUIN\nBRIDGET BRUIN\nSHAWN BRUIN\nMARY BRUIN\nFATHER HART\nA FAERY CHILD\n\n\n\nThe Scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County of\nSligo, and at a remote time.\n\n\n                        THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE\n\nSCENE.--A room with a hearth on the floor in the middle of a deep\nalcove to the Right. There are benches in the alcove and a table;\nand a crucifix on the wall. The alcove is full of a glow of\nlight from the fire. There is an open door facing the audience to\nthe Left, and to the left of this a bench. Through the door one\ncan see the forest. It is night, but the moon or a late sunset\nglimmers through the trees and carries the eye far off into a\nvague, mysterious World.\n\nMAURTEEN BRUIN, SHAWN BRUIN, and BRIDGET BRUIN sit in the alcove\nat the table or about the fire. They are dressed in the costume\nof some remote time, and near them sits an old priest, FATHER\nHART. He may be dressed as a friar. There is food and drink\nupon the table. MARY BRUIN stands by the door reading a book. If\nshe looks up she can see through the door into the wood.\n\nBRIDGET. Because I bid her clean the pots for supper\nShe took that old book down out of the thatch;\nShe has been doubled over it ever since.\nWe should be deafened by her groans and moans\nHad she to work as some do, Father Hart;\nGet up at dawn like me and mend and scour;\nOr ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,\nThe pyx and blessed bread under your arm.\n\nSHAWN. Mother, you are too cross.\n\nBRIDGET. You've married her,\nAnd fear to vex her and so take her part.\n\nMAURTEEN (to FATHER HART)\nIt is but right that youth should side with youth\nShe quarrels with my wife a bit at times,\nAnd is too deep just now in the old book\nBut do not blame her greatly; she will grow\nAs quiet as a puff-ball in a tree\nWhen but the moons of marriage dawn and die\nFor half a score of times.\n\nFATHER HART. Their hearts are wild,\nAs be the hearts of birds, till children come.\n\nBRIDGET. She would not mind the kettle, milk the cow,\nOr even lay the knives and spread the cloth.\n\nSHAWN. Mother, if only--\n\nMAURTEEN. Shawn, this is half empty;\nGo, bring up the best bottle that we have.\n\nFATHER HART. I never saw her read a book before,\nWhat can it be?\n\nMAURTEEN (to SHAWN)\nWhat are you waiting for?\nYou must not shake it when you draw the cork\nit's precious wine, so take your time about it.\n\n(SHAWN goes.)\n\n(To priest)  There was a Spaniard wrecked at Ocris Head,\nWhen I was young, and I have still some bottles.\nHe cannot bear to hear her blamed; the book\nHas lain up in the thatch these fifty years;\nMy father told me my grandfather wrote it,\nAnd killed a heifer for the binding of it--\nBut supper's spread, and we can talk and eat.\nIt was little good he got out of the book,\nBecause it filled his house with rambling fiddlers,\nAnd rambling ballad-makers and the like.\nThe griddle-bread is there in front of you.\nColleen, what is the wonder in that book,\nThat you must leave the bread to cool? Had I\nOr had my father read or written books\nThere was no stocking stuffed with yellow guineas\nTo come when I am dead to Shawn and you.\n\nFATHER HART. You should not fill your head with foolish dreams.\nWhat are you reading?\n\nMARY. How a Princess Edane,\nA daughter of a King of Ireland, heard\nA voice singing on a May Eve like this,\nAnd followed half awake and half asleep,\nUntil she came into the Land of Faery,\nWhere nobody gets old and godly and grave,\nWhere nobody gets old and crafty and wise,\nWhere nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.\nAnd she is still there, busied with a dance\nDeep in the dewy shadow of a wood,\nOr where stars walk upon a mountain-top.\n\nMAURTEEN. Persuade the colleen to put down the book;\nMy grandfather would mutter just such things,\nAnd he was no judge of a dog or a horse,\nAnd any idle boy could blarney him;\njust speak your mind.\n\nFATHER HART. Put it away, my colleen;\nGod spreads the heavens above us like great wings\nAnd gives a little round of deeds and days,\nAnd then come the wrecked angels and set snares,\nAnd bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams,\nUntil the heart is puffed with pride and goes\nHalf shuddering and half joyous from God's peace;\nAnd it was some wrecked angel, blind with tears,\nWho flattered Edane's heart with merry words.\nMy colleen, I have seen some other girls\nRestless and ill at ease, but years went by\nAnd they grew like their neighbours and were glad\nIn minding children, working at the churn,\nAnd gossiping of weddings and of wakes;\nFor life moves out of a red flare of dreams\nInto a common light of common hours,\nUntil old age bring the red flare again.\n\nMAURTEEN. That's true--but she's too young to know it's true.\n\nBRIDGET. She's old enough to know that it is wrong\nTo mope and idle.\n\nMAURTEEN. I've little blame for her;\nShe's dull when my big son is in the fields,\nAnd that and maybe this good woman's tongue\nHave driven her to hide among her dreams\nLike children from the dark under the bed-clothes.\n\nBRIDGET. She'd never do a turn if I were silent.\n\nMAURTEEN. And maybe it is natural upon May Eve\nTo dream of the good people. But tell me, girl,\nIf you've the branch of blessed quicken wood\nThat women hang upon the post of the door\nThat they may send good luck into the house?\nRemember they may steal new-married brides\nAfter the fall of twilight on May Eve,\nOr what old women mutter at the fire\nIs but a pack of lies.\n\nFATHER HART. It may be truth\nWe do not know the limit of those powers\nGod has permitted to the evil spirits\nFor some mysterious end. You have done right.\n\n(to MARY);\n\nIt's well to keep old innocent customs up.\n\n(MARY BRUIN has taken a bough of quicken wood from a seat and\nhung it on a nail in the doorpost. A girl child strangely\ndressed, perhaps in faery green, comes out of the wood and takes\nit away.)\n\nMARY. I had no sooner hung it on the nail\nBefore a child ran up out of the wind;\nShe has caught it in her hand and fondled it;\nHer face is pale as water before dawn.\n\nFATHER HART. Whose child can this be?\n\nMAURTEEN. No one's child at all.\nShe often dreams that some one has gone by,\nWhen there was nothing but a puff of wind.\n\nMARY.\nThey have taken away the blessed quicken wood,\nThey will not bring good luck into the house;\nYet I am glad that I was courteous to them,\nFor are not they, likewise, children of God?\n\nFATHER HART. Colleen, they are the children of the fiend,\nAnd they have power until the end of Time,\nWhen God shall fight with them a great pitched battle\nAnd hack them into pieces.\n\nMARY. He will smile,\nFather, perhaps, and open His great door.\n\nFATHER HART. Did but the lawless angels see that door\nThey would fall, slain by everlasting peace;\nAnd when such angels knock upon our doors,\nWho goes with them must drive through the same storm.\n\n(A thin old arm comes round the door-post and knocks and\nbeckons. It is clearly seen in the silvery light. MARY BRUIN\ngoes to door and stands in it for a moment. MAURTEEN BRUIN is busy\nfilling FATHER HART's plate. BRIDGET BRUIN stirs the fire.)\n\nMARY (coming to table)\nThere's somebody out there that beckoned me\nAnd raised her hand as though it held a cup,\nAnd she was drinking from it, so it may be\nThat she is thirsty.\n\n(She takes milk from the table and carries it to the door.)\n\nFATHER HART. That will be the child\nThat you would have it was no child at all.\n\nBRIDGET. And maybe, Father, what he said was true;\nFor there is not another night in the year\nSo wicked as to-night.\n\nMAURTEEN. Nothing can harm us\nWhile the good Father's underneath our roof.\n\nMARY. A little queer old woman dressed in green.\n\nBRIDGET. The good people beg for milk and fire\nUpon May Eve--woe to the house that gives,\nFor they have power upon it for a year.\n\nMAURTEEN. Hush, woman, hush!\n\nBRIDGET.  She's given milk away.\nI knew she would bring evil on the house.\n\nMAURTEEN. Who was it?\n\nMARY. Both the tongue and face were strange.\n\nMAURTEEN. Some strangers came last week to Clover Hill;\nShe must be one of them.\n\nBRIDGET. I am afraid.\n\nFATHER HART. The Cross will keep all evil from the house\nWhile it hangs there.\n\nMAURTEEN. Come, sit beside me, colleen,\nAnd put away your dreams of discontent,\nFor I would have you light up my last days,\nLike the good glow of the turf; and when I die\nYou'll be the wealthiest hereabout, for, colleen,\nI have a stocking full of yellow guineas\nHidden away where nobody can find it.\n\nBRIDGET. You are the fool of every pretty face,\nAnd I must spare and pinch that my son's wife\nMay have all kinds of ribbons for her head.\n\nMAURTEEN. Do not be cross; she is a right good girl!\nThe butter is by your elbow, Father Hart.\nMy colleen, have not Fate and Time and Change\nDone well for me and for old Bridget there?\nWe have a hundred acres of good land,\nAnd sit beside each other at the fire.\nI have this reverend Father for my friend,\nI look upon your face and my son's face--\nWe've put his plate by yours--and here he comes,\nAnd brings with him the only thing we have lacked,\nAbundance of good wine.\n\n(SHAWN comes in.)\n\nStir Up the fire,\nAnd put new turf upon it till it blaze;\nTo watch the turf-smoke coiling from the fire,\nAnd feel content and wisdom in your heart,\nThis is the best of life; when we are young\nWe long to tread a way none trod before,\nBut find the excellent old way through love,\nAnd through the care of children, to the hour\nFor bidding Fate and Time and Change goodbye.\n\n(MARY takes a sod of turf from the fire and goes out through the\ndoor. SHAWN follows her and meets her coming in.)\n\nSHAWN. What is it draws you to the chill o' the wood?\nThere is a light among the stems of the trees\nThat makes one shiver.\n\nMARY. A little queer old man\nMade me a sign to show he wanted fire\nTo light his pipe.\n\nBRIDGET. You've given milk and fire\nUpon the unluckiest night of the year and brought,\nFor all you know, evil upon the house.\nBefore you married you were idle and fine\nAnd went about with ribbons on your head;\nAnd now--no, Father, I will speak my mind\nShe is not a fitting wife for any man--\n\nSHAWN. Be quiet, Mother!\n\nMAURTEEN. You are much too cross.\n\nMARY. What do I care if I have given this house,\nWhere I must hear all day a bitter tongue,\nInto the power of faeries\n\nBRIDGET. You know well\nHow calling the good people by that name,\nOr talking of them over much at all,\nMay bring all kinds of evil on the house.\n\nMARY. Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house!\nLet me have all the freedom I have lost;\nWork when I will and idle when I will!\nFaeries, come take me out of this dull world,\nFor I would ride with you upon the wind,\nRun on the top of the dishevelled tide,\nAnd dance upon the mountains like a flame.\n\nFATHER HART. You cannot know the meaning of your words.\n\nMARY. Father, I am right weary of four tongues:\nA tongue that is too crafty and too wise,\nA tongue that is too godly and too grave,\nA tongue that is more bitter than the tide,\nAnd a kind tongue too full of drowsy love,\nOf drowsy love and my captivity.\n\n(SHAWN BRUIN leads her to a seat at the left of the door.)\n\nSHAWN. Do not blame me; I often lie awake\nThinking that all things trouble your bright head.\nHow beautiful it is--your broad pale forehead\nUnder a cloudy blossoming of hair!\nSit down beside me here--these are too old,\nAnd have forgotten they were ever young.\n\nMARY. O, you are the great door-post of this house,\nAnd I the branch of blessed quicken wood,\nAnd if I could I'd hang upon the post,\nTill I had brought good luck into the house.\n\n(She would put her arms about him, but looks shyly at the priest\nand lets her arms fall.)\n\nFATHER HART. My daughter, take his hand--by love alone\nGod binds us to Himself and to the hearth,\nThat shuts us from the waste beyond His peace\nFrom maddening freedom and bewildering light.\n\nSHAWN. Would that the world were mine to give it you,\nAnd not its quiet hearths alone, but even\nAll that bewilderment of light and freedom.\nIf you would have it.\n\nMARY. I would take the world\nAnd break it into pieces in my hands\nTo see you smile watching it crumble away.\n\nSHAWN. Then I would mould a world of fire and dew\nWith no one bitter, grave or over wise,\n\nAnd nothing marred or old to do you wrong,\nAnd crowd the enraptured quiet of the sky\nWith candles burning to your lonely face.\n\nMARY/ Your looks are all the candles that I need.\n\nSHAWN. Once a fly dancing in a beam of the sun,\nOr the light wind blowing out of the dawn,\nCould fill your heart with dreams none other knew,\nBut now the indissoluble sacrament\nHas mixed your heart that was most proud and cold\nWith my warm heart for ever; the sun and moon\nMust fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll\nBut your white spirit still walk by my spirit.\n\n(A Voice singing in the wood.)\n\nMAURTEEN. There's some one singing. Why, it's but a child.\nIt sang, \"The lonely of heart is withered away.\"\nA strange song for a child, but she sings sweetly.\nListen, Listen!\n\n(Goes to door.)\n\nMARY. O, cling close to me,\nBecause I have said wicked things to-night.\n\nTHE VOICE. The wind blows out of the gates of the day,\nThe wind blows over the lonely of heart,\nAnd the lonely of heart is withered away.\nWhile the faeries dance in a place apart,\nShaking their milk-white feet in a ring,\nTossing their milk-white arms in the air\nFor they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing\nOf a land where even the old are fair,\nAnd even the wise are merry of tongue\nBut I heard a reed of Coolaney say,\nWhen the wind has laughed and murmured and sung\nThe lonely of heart is withered away\n\nMAURTEEN. Being happy, I would have all others happy,\nSo I will bring her in out of the cold.\n\n(He brings in the faery child.)\n\nTHE CHILD. I tire of winds and waters and pale lights.\n\nMAURTEEN. And that's no wonder, for when night has fallen\nThe wood's a cold and a bewildering place,\nBut you are welcome here.\n\n THE CHILD. I am welcome here.\nFor when I tire of this warm little house\nThere is one here that must away, away.\n\n\nMAURTEEN. O, listen to her dreamy and strange talk.\nAre you not cold?\nTHE CHILD. I will crouch down beside you,\nFor I have run a long, long way this night.\n\nBRIDGET. You have a comely shape.\n\nMAURTEEN. Your hair is wet.\n\nBRIDGET. I'll warm your chilly feet.\n\nMAURTEEN. You have come indeed\nA long, long way--for I have never seen\nYour pretty face--and must be tired and hungry,\nHere is some bread and wine.\n\nTHE CHILD. The wine is bitter.\nOld mother, have you no sweet food for me?\n\nBRIDGET. I have some honey.\n\n(She goes into the next room.)\n\nMAURTEEN. You have coaxing ways,\nThe mother was quite cross before you came.\n\n(BRIDGET returns with the honey and fills\nPorringer with milk.)\n\nBRIDGET. She is the child of gentle people; look\nAt her white hands and at her pretty dress.\nI've brought you some new milk, but wait a while\nAnd I will put it to the fire to warm,\nFor things well fitted for poor folk like us\nWould never please a high-born child like you.\n\nTHE CHILD. From dawn, when you must blow the fire ablaze,\nYou work your fingers to the bone, old mother.\nThe young may lie in bed and dream and hope,\nBut you must work your fingers to the bone\nBecause your heart is old.\n\nBRIDGET. The young are idle.\n\nTHE CHILD. Your memories have made you wise, old father;\nThe young must sigh through many a dream and hope,\nBut you are wise because your heart is old.\n\n(BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey.)\n\nMAURTEEN. O, who would think to find so young a girl\nLoving old age and wisdom?\n\nTHE CHILD. No more, mother.\n\nMAURTEEN. What a small bite! The milk is ready now.\n\n(Hands it to her.)\n\nWhat a small sip!\n\nTHE CHILD. Put on my shoes, old mother.\nNow I would like to dance now I have eaten,\nThe reeds are dancing by Coolaney lake,\nAnd I would like to dance until the reeds\nAnd the white waves have danced themselves asleep.\n\n(BRIDGET puts  on the shoes, and the CHILD is about to dance, but\nsuddenly sees the crucifix and shrieks and covers her eyes.)\n\nWhat is that ugly thing on the black cross?\n\nFATHER HART. You cannot know how naughty your words are!\nThat is our Blessed Lord.\n\nTHE CHILD. Hide it away,\n\nBRIDGET. I have begun to be afraid again.\n\nTHE CHILD. Hide it away!\n\nMAURTEEN. That would be wickedness!\n\nBRIDGET. That would be sacrilege!\n\nTHE CHILD. The tortured thing\nHide it away!\n\nMAURTEEN. Her parents are to blame.\n\nFATHER HART. That is the image of the Son of God.\n\nTHE CHILD (caressing him) Hide it away, hide it away!\n\nMAURTEEN. No, no.\n\nFATHER HART. Because you are so young and like a bird,\nThat must take fright at every stir of the leaves,\nI will go take it down.\n\nTHE CHILD. Hide it away!\nAnd cover it out of sight and out of mind!\n\n(FATHER HART takes crucifix from wall and carries it\ntowards inner room.)\n\nFATHER HART. Since you have come into this barony,\nI will instruct you in our blessed faith\nAnd being so keen witted you'll soon learn.\n\n(To the others.)\n\nWe must be tender to all budding things,\nOur Maker let no thought of Calvary\nTrouble the morning stars in their first song.\n\n(Puts crucifix in inner room.)\n\nTHE CHILD. Here is level ground for dancing; I will dance.\n\n(Sings.)\n\n\"The wind blows out of the gates of the day,\nThe wind blows over the lonely of heart,\nAnd the lonely of heart is withered away.\"\n\n(She dances.)\n\nMARY (to SHAWN). just now when she came near I thought I heard\nOther small steps beating upon the floor,\nAnd a faint music blowing in the wind,\nInvisible pipes giving her feet the tune.\n\nSHAWN. I heard no steps but hers.\n\nMARY. I hear them now,\nThe unholy powers are dancing in the house.\n\nMAURTEEN. Come over here, and if you promise me\nNot to talk wickedly of holy things\nI will give you something.\n\nTHE CHILD. Bring it me, old father.\n\nMAURTEEN. Here are some ribbons that I bought in the town\nFor my son's wife--but she will let me give them\nTo tie up that wild hair the winds have tumbled.\n\nTHE CHILD. Come, tell me, do you love me?\n\nMAURTEEN. Yes, I love you.\n\nTHE CHILD. Ah, but you love this fireside. Do you love me?\n\nFATHER HART. When the Almighty puts so great a share\nOf His own ageless youth into a creature,\nTo look is but to love.\n\nTHE CHILD. But you love Him?\n\nBRIDGET. She is blaspheming.\n\nTHE CHILD. And do you love me too\n\nMARY. I do not know.\n\nTHE CHILD. You love that young man there,\nYet I could make you ride upon the winds,\nRun on the top of the dishevelled tide,\nAnd dance upon the mountains like a flame.\n\nMARY. Queen of Angels and kind saints defend us!\nSome dreadful thing will happen. A while ago\nShe took away the blessed quicken wood.\n\nFATHER HART. You fear because of her unmeasured prattle;\nShe knows no better.  Child, how old are you?\n\nTHE CHILD. When winter sleep is abroad my hair grows thin,\nMy feet unsteady. When the leaves awaken\nMy mother carries me in her golden arms;\nI'll soon put on my womanhood and marry\nThe spirits of wood and water, but who can tell\nWhen I was born for the first time? I think\nI am much older than the eagle cock\nThat blinks and blinks on Ballygawley Hill,\nAnd he is the oldest thing under the moon.\n\nFATHER HART. O she is of the faery people.\n\nTHE CHILD. One called,\nI sent my messengers for milk and fire,\nShe called again and after that I came.\n\n(All except SHAWN and MARY BRUIN gather behind the priest\nfor protection.)\n\nSHAWN (rising) Though you have made all these obedient,\nYou have not charmed my sight and won from me\nA wish or gift to make you powerful;\nI'll turn you from the house.\n\nFATHER HART. No, I will face her.\n\nTHE CHILD. Because you took away the crucifix\nI am so mighty that there's none can pass,\nUnless I will it, where my feet have danced\nOr where I've whirled my finger-tops.\n\n(SHAWN tries to approach her and cannot.)\n\nMAURTEEN. Look, look!\nThere something stops him--look how he moves his hands\nAs though he rubbed them on a wall of glass!\n\nFATHER HART. I will confront this mighty spirit alone.\nBe not afraid, the Father is with us,\nThe Holy Martyrs and the Innocents,\nThe adoring Magi in their coats of mail,\nAnd He who died and rose on the third day\nAnd all the nine angelic hierarchies.\n\n(The CHILD kneels upon the settle beside MARY and puts her arms\nabout her.)\n\nCry, daughter, to the Angels and the Saints.\n\nTHE CHILD. You shall go with me, newly-married bride,\n\nAnd gaze upon a merrier multitude.\nWhite-armed Nuala, Aengus of the Birds,\nFeacra of the hurtling foam, and him\nWho is the ruler of the Western Host,\nFinvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire,\nWhere beauty has no ebb, decay no flood,\nBut joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.\nI kiss you and the world begins to fade.\n\nSHAWN. Awake out of that trance--and cover up\nYour eyes and ears.\n\nFATHER HART. She must both look and listen,\nFor only the soul's choice can save her now.\nCome over to me, daughter; stand beside me;\nThink of this house and of your duties in it.\n\nTHE CHILD. Stay and come with me, newly-married bride,\nFor if you hear him you grow like the rest;\nBear children, cook, and bend above the churn,\nAnd wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs,\nUntil at last, grown old and bitter of tongue,\nYou're crouching there and shivering at the grave.\n\nFATHER HART. Daughter, I point you out the way to Heaven.\n\nTHE CHILD. But I can lead you, newly-married bride,\nWhere nobody gets old and crafty and wise,\nWhere nobody gets old and godly and grave,\nWhere nobody gets old and bitter of tongue,\nAnd where kind tongues bring no captivity;\nFor we are but obedient to the thoughts\nThat drift into the mind at a wink of the eye.\n\nFATHER HART. . By the dear Name of the One crucified,\nI bid you, Mary Bruin, come to me.\n\nTHE CHILD. I keep you in the name of your own heart.\n\nFATHER HART. It is because I put away the crucifix\nThat I am nothing, and my power is nothing,\nI'll bring it here again.\n\nMAURTEEN (clinging to him) No!\n\nBRIDGET. Do not leave us.\n\nFATHER HART. O, let me go before it is too late;\nIt is my sin alone that brought it all.\n\n(Singing outside.)\n\nTHE CHILD. I hear them sing, \"Come, newly-married bride,\nCome, to the woods and waters and pale lights.\"\n\nMARY. I will go with you.\n\nFATHER HART. She is lost, alas!\n\nTHE CHILD (standing by the door)\nBut clinging mortal hope must fall from you,\nFor we who ride the winds, run on the waves,\nAnd dance upon the mountains are more light\nThan dewdrops on the banner of the dawn.\n\nMARY. O, take me with you.\n\nSHAWN. Beloved, I will keep you.\nI've more than words, I have these arms to hold you,\nNor all the faery host, do what they please,\nShall ever make me loosen you from these arms.\n\nMARY. Dear face! Dear voice!\n\nTHE CHILD. Come, newly-married bride.\n\nMARY. I always loved her world--and yet--and yet--\n\nTHE CHILD. White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird.\n\nMARY. She calls me!\n\nTHE CHILD. Come with me, little bird.\n\n(Distant dancing figures appear in the wood.)\n\nMARY. I can hear songs and dancing.\n\nSHAWN. Stay with me.\n\nMARY. I think that I would stay--and yet--and yet--\n\nTHE CHILD. Come, little bird, with crest of gold.'\n\nMARY (very soft,) And yet--\n\nTHE CHILD. Come, little bird with silver feet!\n\n(MARY BRUIN dies, and the CHILD goes.)\n\nSHAWN. She is dead!\n\nBRIDGET. Come from that image; body and soul are gone\nYou have thrown your arms about a drift of leaves,\nOr bole of an ash-tree changed into her image.\n\nFATHER HART. Thus do the spirits of evil snatch their prey,\nAlmost out of the very hand of God;\nAnd day by day their power is more and more,\nAnd men and women leave old paths, for pride\nComes knocking with thin knuckles on the heart.\n\n(Outside there are dancing figures, and it may be a white bird,\nand many voices singing.)\n\n\"The wind blows out of the gates of the day,\nThe wind blows over the lonely of heart,\nAnd the lonely of heart is withered away;\nWhile the faeries dance in a place apart,\nShaking their milk-white feet in a ring,\nTossing their milk-white arms in the air;\nFor they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing\nOf a land where even the old are fair,\nAnd even the wise are merry of tongue;\nBut I heard a reed of Coolaney say--\nWhen the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,\nThe lonely of heart is withered away.\"'\n\n\n\n                                  NOTE\n\nThis little play was produced at the Avenue Theatre in the spring\nof 1894, with the following cast:\n\n    Maurteen Bruin, Mr. James Welch;\n    Shawn Bruin, Mr. A. E. W. Mason;\n    Father Hart, Mr. G. R. Foss;\n    Bridget Bruin, Miss Charlotte Morland;\n    Maire Bruin, Miss Winifred Fraser:\n    A Faery Child, Miss Dorothy Paget.\n\nIt ran for a little over six weeks. It was revived in America in\n1901, when it was taken on tour by Mrs. Lemoyne. It has been\nplayed two or three times professionally since then in America\nand a great many times in England and America by amateurs. Till\nlately it was not part of the repertory of the Abbey Theatre, for\nI had grown to dislike it without knowing what I disliked in it.\nThis winter, however, I have made many revisions and now it plays\nwell enough to give me pleasure. It is printed in this book in\nthe new form, which was acted for the first time on February 22,\n1912, at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin. At the Abbey Theatre, where\nthe platform of the stage comes out in front of the curtain, the\ncurtain falls before the priest's last words. He remains outside\nthe curtain and the words are spoken to the audience like an\nepilogue.\n\nW. B. YEATS.\nABBEY THEATRE, DUBLIN.\nMarch, 1912.","title":"The Land of Heart's Desire","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":4831}