The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

blade compels, and bid them send you one

      Who has a like vow from their triple dun.’

      Between the lavish shelter of a wood

      And the gray tide, the Red Branch multitude

      Feasted, and with them old Cuchulain dwelt,

      And his young dear one close beside him knelt,

      And gazed upon the wisdom of his eyes,

      More mournful than the depth of starry skies,

      And pondered on the wonder of his days;

      And all around the harp-string told his praise,

      And Conchubar, the Red Branch king of kings,

      With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.

      At last Cuchulain spake, ‘A young man strays

      Driving the deer along the woody ways.

      I often hear him singing to and fro;

      I often hear the sweet sound of his bow,

      Seek out what man he is.’

      One went and came.

      ‘He bade me let all know he gives his name

      At the sword point, and bade me bring him one

      Who had a like vow from our triple dun.’

      ‘I only of the Red Branch hosted now,’

      Cuchulain cried, ‘have made and keep that vow.’

      After short fighting in the leafy shade,

      He spake to the young man, ‘Is there no maid

      Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,

      Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,

      That you come here to meet this ancient sword?’

      ‘The dooms of men are in God’s hidden hoard.’

      ‘Your head a while seemed like a woman’s head

      That I loved once.’

      Again the fighting sped,

      But now the war rage in Cuchulain woke,

      And through the other’s shield his long blade broke,

      And pierced him.

      ‘Speak before your breath is done.’

      ‘I am Finmole, mighty Cuchulain’s son.’

      ‘I put you from your pain. I can no more.’

      While day its burden on to evening bore,

      With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;

      Then Conchubar sent that sweet-throated maid,

      And she, to win him, his gray hair caressed;

      In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.

      Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men,

      Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,

      Spake thus, ‘Cuchulain will dwell there and brood

      For three days more in dreadful quietude,

      And then arise, and raving slay us all.

      Go, cast on him delusions magical,

      That he may fight the waves of the loud sea.’

      And ten by ten under a quicken tree,

      The Druids chaunted, swaying in their hands

      Tall wands of alder and white quicken wands.

      In three days’ time, Cuchulain with a moan

      Stood up, and came to the long sands alone:

      For four days warred he with the bitter tide;

      And the waves flowed above him, and he died.

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

       Table of Contents

      Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

      For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,

      Mournful that no new wonder may betide,

      Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,

      And Usna’s children died.

      We and the labouring world are passing by:

      Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place,

      Like the pale waters in their wintry race,

      Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,

      Lives on this lonely face.

      Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:

      Before you were, or any hearts to beat,

      Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;

      He made the world to be a grassy road

      Before her wandering feet.

THE ROSE OF PEACE

       Table of Contents

      If Michael, leader of God’s host

      When Heaven and Hell are met,

      Looked down on you from Heaven’s door-post

      He would his deeds forget.

      Brooding no more upon God’s wars

      In his Divine homestead,

      He would go weave out of the stars

      A chaplet for your head.

      And all folk seeing him bow down,

      And white stars tell your praise,

      Would come at last to God’s great town,

      Led on by gentle ways;

      And God would bid His warfare cease,

      Saying all things were well;

      And softly make a rosy peace,

      A peace of Heaven with Hell.

THE ROSE OF BATTLE

       Table of Contents

      Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!

      The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled

      Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,

      And God’s bell buoyed to be the water’s care;

      While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band

      With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand.

      Turn if you may from battles never done,

      I call, as they go by me one by one,

      Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,

      For him who hears love sing and never cease,

      Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:

      But gather all for whom no love hath made

      A