The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

      The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,

      The field mouse running by me in the grass,

      And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;

      But seek alone to hear the strange things said

      By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,

      And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.

      Come near; I would, before my time to go,

      Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:

      Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

FERGUS AND THE DRUID

       Table of Contents

      FERGUS.

      The whole day have I followed in the rocks,

      And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape.

      First as a raven on whose ancient wings

      Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed

      A weasel moving on from stone to stone,

      And now at last you wear a human shape,

      A thin gray man half lost in gathering night.

      DRUID.

      What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

      FERGUS.

      This would I say, most wise of living souls:

      Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me

      When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,

      And what to me was burden without end

      To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown

      Upon his head to cast away my care.

      DRUID.

      What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

      FERGUS.

      I feast amid my people on the hill,

      And pace the woods, and drive my chariot wheels

      In the white border of the murmuring sea;

      And still I feel the crown upon my head.

      DRUID.

      What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

      FERGUS.

      I’d put away the foolish might of a king,

      But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

      DRUID.

      Look on my thin gray hair and hollow cheeks,

      And on these hands that may not lift the sword,

      This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.

      No maiden loves me, no man seeks my help,

      Because I be not of the things I dream.

      FERGUS.

      A wild and foolish labourer is a king,

      To do and do and do, and never dream.

      DRUID.

      Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;

      Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

      FERGUS.

      I see my life go dripping like a stream

      From change to change; I have been many things,

      A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light

      Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,

      An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,

      A king sitting upon a chair of gold,

      And all these things were wonderful and great;

      But now I have grown nothing, being all,

      And the whole world weighs down upon my heart:

      Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow

      Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN

       Table of Contents

      A man came slowly from the setting sun,

      To Forgail’s daughter, Emer, in her dun,

      And found her dyeing cloth with subtle care,

      And said, casting aside his draggled hair:

      ‘I am Aleel, the swineherd, whom you bid

      Go dwell upon the sea cliffs, vapour-hid;

      But now my years of watching are no more.’

      Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,

      And stretching out her arms, red with the dye,

      Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.

      Looking on her, Aleel, the swineherd, said:

      ‘Not any god alive, nor mortal dead,

      Has slain so mighty armies, so great kings,

      Nor won the gold that now Cuchulain brings.’

      ‘Why do you tremble thus from feet to crown?’

      Aleel, the swineherd, wept and cast him down

      Upon the web-heaped floor, and thus his word:

      ‘With him is one sweet-throated like a bird,

      And lovelier than the moon upon the sea;

      He made for her an army cease to be.’

      ‘Who bade you tell these things?’ and then she cried

      To those about, ‘Beat him with thongs of hide

      And drive him from the door.’ And thus it was;

      And where her son, Finmole, on the smooth grass

      Was driving cattle, came she with swift feet,

      And called out to him, ‘Son, it is not meet

      That you stay idling here with flocks and herds.’

      ‘I have long waited, mother, for those words;

      But wherefore now?’

      ‘There is a man to die;

      You have the heaviest arm under the sky.’

      ‘My father dwells among the sea-worn bands,

      And breaks the ridge of battle with his hands.’

      ‘Nay, you are taller than Cuchulain, son.’

      ‘He is the mightiest man in ship or dun.’

      ‘Nay, he is old and sad with many wars,

      And weary of the crash of battle cars.’

      ‘I only ask what way my journey lies,

      For God, who made you bitter, made you wise.’

      ‘The Red Branch kings a tireless banquet keep,

      Where the sun falls into the Western deep.

      Go there, and dwell on the green forest rim;

      But