The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

this long-’stablished ground.

      CONCHUBAR.

      Listen to me.

      Aoife makes war on us, and every day

      Our enemies grow greater and beat the walls

      More bitterly, and you within the walls

      Are every day more turbulent; and yet,

      When I would speak about these things, your fancy

      Runs as it were a swallow on the wind.

      [Outside the door in the blue light of the sea mist are many old and young KINGS; amongst them are three WOMEN, two of whom carry a bowl full of fire. The third, in what follows, puts from time to time fragrant herbs into the fire so that it flickers up into brighter flame.

      Look at the door and what men gather there—

      Old counsellors that steer the land with me,

      And younger kings, the dancers and harp-players

      That follow in your tumults, and all these

      Are held there by the one anxiety.

      Will you be bound into obedience

      And so make this land safe for them and theirs?

      You are but half a king and I but half;

      I need your might of hand and burning heart,

      And you my wisdom.

      CUCHULAIN.

       [Going near to door.]

      Nestlings of a high nest,

      Hawks that have followed me into the air

      And looked upon the sun, we’ll out of this

      And sail upon the wind once more. This king

      Would have me take an oath to do his will,

      And having listened to his tune from morning,

      I will no more of it. Run to the stable

      And set the horses to the chariot-pole,

      And send a messenger to the harp-players.

      We’ll find a level place among the woods,

      And dance awhile.

      A YOUNG KING.

      Cuchulain, take the oath.

      There is none here that would not have you take it.

      CUCHULAIN.

      You’d have me take it? Are you of one mind?

      THE KINGS.

      All, all, all, all!

      A YOUNG KING.

      Do what the High King bids you.

      CONCHUBAR.

      There is not one but dreads this turbulence

      Now that they’re settled men.

      CUCHULAIN.

      Are you so changed,

      Or have I grown more dangerous of late?

      But that’s not it. I understand it all.

      It’s you that have changed. You’ve wives and children now,

      And for that reason cannot follow one

      That lives like a bird’s flight from tree to tree.—

      It’s time the years put water in my blood

      And drowned the wildness of it, for all’s changed,

      But that unchanged.—I’ll take what oath you will:

      The moon, the sun, the water, light, or air,

      I do not care how binding.

      CONCHUBAR.

      On this fire

      That has been lighted from your hearth and mine;

      The older men shall be my witnesses,

      The younger, yours. The holders of the fire

      Shall purify the thresholds of the house

      With waving fire, and shut the outer door,

      According to the custom; and sing rhyme

      That has come down from the old law-makers

      To blow the witches out. Considering

      That the wild will of man could be oath-bound,

      But that a woman’s could not, they bid us sing

      Against the will of woman at its wildest

      In the shape-changers that run upon the wind.

      [CONCHUBAR has gone on to his throne.]

      THE WOMEN.

      [They sing in a very low voice after the first few words so that the others all but drown their words.

      May this fire have driven out

      The shape-changers that can put

      Ruin on a great king’s house

      Until all be ruinous.

      Names whereby a man has known

      The threshold and the hearthstone,

      Gather on the wind and drive

      The women, none can kiss and thrive,

      For they are but whirling wind,

      Out of memory and mind.

      They would make a prince decay

      With light images of clay,

      Planted in the running wave;

      Or, for many shapes they have,

      They would change them into hounds,

      Until he had died of his wounds,

      Though the change were but a whim;

      Or they’d hurl a spell at him,

      That he follow with desire

      Bodies that can never tire,

      Or grow kind, for they anoint

      All their bodies, joint by joint,

      With a miracle-working juice

      That is made out of the grease

      Of the ungoverned unicorn.

      But the man is thrice forlorn,

      Emptied, ruined, wracked, and lost,

      That they follow, for at most

      They will give him kiss for kiss;

      While they murmur, ‘After this

      Hatred may be sweet to the taste.’

      Those wild hands that have embraced

      All his body can but shove

      At the burning wheel of love,

      Till the side of hate comes up.

      Therefore in this ancient cup

      May the sword-blades drink their fill

      Of the homebrew there, until

      They will have for masters none

      But the threshold and hearthstone.

      CUCHULAIN.

       [Speaking, while they are singing.]

      I’ll take and keep this oath, and from this day

      I shall be what you please, my chicks, my nestlings.

      Yet I