The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

and she bound me

      With her triumphing arms around me,

      And whispering to herself enwound me;

      But when the horse had felt my weight,

      He shook himself and neighed three times:

      Caolte, Conan, and Finn came near,

      And wept, and raised their lamenting hands,

      And bid me stay, with many a tear;

      But we rode out from the human lands.

      In what far kingdom do you go,

      Ah, Fenians, with the shield and bow?

      Or are you phantoms white as snow,

      Whose lips had life’s most prosperous glow?

      O you, with whom in sloping valleys,

      Or down the dewy forest alleys,

      I chased at morn the flying deer,

      With whom I hurled the hurrying spear,

      And heard the foemen’s bucklers rattle,

      And broke the heaving ranks of battle!

      And Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,

      Where are you with your long rough hair?

      You go not where the red deer feeds,

      Nor tear the foemen from their steeds.

      S. PATRIC.

      Boast not, nor mourn with drooping head

      Companions long accurst and dead,

      And hounds for centuries dust and air.

      OISIN.

      We galloped over the glossy sea:

      I know not if days passed or hours,

      And Niamh sang continually

      Danaan songs, and their dewy showers

      Of pensive laughter, unhuman sound,

      Lulled weariness, and softly round

      My human sorrow her white arms wound.

      On! on! and now a hornless deer

      Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound

      All pearly white, save one red ear;

      And now a maiden rode like the wind

      With an apple of gold in her tossing hand,

      And with quenchless eyes and fluttering hair

      A beautiful young man followed behind.

      ‘Were these two born in the Danaan land,

      Or have they breathed the mortal air?’

      ‘Vex them no longer,’ Niamh said,

      And sighing bowed her gentle head,

      And sighing laid the pearly tip

      Of one long finger on my lip.

      But now the moon like a white rose shone

      In the pale west, and the sun’s rim sank,

      And clouds arrayed their rank on rank

      About his fading crimson ball:

      The floor of Emen’s hosting hall

      Was not more level than the sea,

      As full of loving phantasy,

      And with low murmurs we rode on,

      Where many a trumpet-twisted shell

      That in immortal silence sleeps

      Dreaming of her own melting hues,

      Her golds, her ambers, and her blues,

      Pierced with soft light the shallowing deeps.

      But now a wandering land breeze came

      And a far sound of feathery quires;

      It seemed to blow from the dying flame,

      They seemed to sing in the smouldering fires.

      The horse towards the music raced,

      Neighing along the lifeless waste;

      Like sooty fingers, many a tree

      Rose ever out of the warm sea;

      And they were trembling ceaselessly,

      As though they all were beating time,

      Upon the centre of the sun,

      To that low laughing woodland rhyme.

      And, now our wandering hours were done,

      We cantered to the shore, and knew

      The reason of the trembling trees:

      Round every branch the song-birds flew,

      Or clung thereon like swarming bees;

      While round the shore a million stood

      Like drops of frozen rainbow light,

      And pondered in a soft vain mood,

      Upon their shadows in the tide,

      And told the purple deeps their pride,

      And murmured snatches of delight;

      And on the shores were many boats

      With bending sterns and bending bows,

      And carven figures on their prows

      Of bitterns, and fish-eating stoats,

      And swans with their exultant throats:

      And where the wood and waters meet

      We tied the horse in a leafy clump,

      And Niamh blew three merry notes

      Out of a little silver trump;

      And then an answering whisper flew

      Over the bare and woody land,

      A whisper of impetuous feet,

      And ever nearer, nearer grew;

      And from the woods rushed out a band

      Of men and maidens, hand in hand,

      And singing, singing altogether;

      Their brows were white as fragrant milk,

      Their cloaks made out of yellow silk,

      And trimmed with many a crimson feather:

      And when they saw the cloak I wore

      Was dim with mire of a mortal shore,

      They fingered it and gazed on me

      And laughed like murmurs of the sea;

      But Niamh with a swift distress

      Bid them away and hold their peace;

      And when they heard her voice they ran

      And knelt them, every maid and man,

      And kissed, as they would never cease,

      Her pearl-pale hand and the hem of her dress.

      She bade them bring us to the hall

      Where Aengus dreams, from sun to sun,

      A Druid dream of the end of days

      When the stars are to wane and the world be done.

      They led us by long and shadowy ways

      Where