The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

when he dies,

      Having their life in him.

      SAILOR TWO.

      Though it be the moon

      That he is holding up between us there,

      I will strike at him.

      THE OTHERS.

      And I! And I! And I!

      [FORGAEL plays the harp.

      FIRST SAILOR.

       [Falling into a dream suddenly.]

      But you were saying there is somebody

      Upon that other ship we are to wake.

      You did not know what brought him to his end,

      But it was sudden.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      You are in the right;

      I had forgotten that we must go wake him.

      DECTORA.

      He has flung a Druid spell upon the air,

      And set you dreaming.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      How can we have a wake

      When we have neither brown nor yellow ale?

      FIRST SAILOR.

      I saw a flagon of brown ale aboard her.

      THIRD SAILOR.

      How can we raise the keen that do not know

      What name to call him by?

      FIRST SAILOR.

      Come to his ship.

      His name will come into our thoughts in a minute.

      I know that he died a thousand years ago,

      And has not yet been waked.

      SECOND SAILOR [beginning to keen].

      Ohone! O! O! O!

      The yew bough has been broken into two,

      And all the birds are scattered.

      ALL THE SAILORS.

      O! O! O! O!

      [They go out keening.

      DECTORA.

      Protect me now, gods, that my people swear by.

      [AIBRIC has risen from the ground where he had fallen. He has begun looking for his sword as if in a dream.

      AIBRIC.

      Where is my sword that fell out of my hand

      When I first heard the news? Ah, there it is!

      [He goes dreamily towards the sword, but DECTORA runs at it and takes it up before he can reach it.

      AIBRIC [sleepily].

      Queen, give it me.

      DECTORA.

      No, I have need of it.

      AIBRIC.

      Why do you need a sword? But you may keep it,

      Now that he’s dead I have no need of it,

      For everything is gone.

      A SAILOR.

       [Calling from the other ship.]

      Come hither, Aibric,

      And tell me who it is that we are waking.

      AIBRIC.

       [Half to DECTORA, half to himself.]

      What name had that dead king? Arthur of Britain?

      No, no—not Arthur. I remember now.

      It was golden-armed Iollan, and he died

      Brokenhearted, having lost his queen

      Through wicked spells. That is not all the tale,

      For he was killed. O! O! O! O! O! O!

      For golden-armed Iollan has been killed.

      [He goes out.

      [While he has been speaking, and through part of what follows, one hears the wailing of the SAILORS from the other ship. DECTORA stands with the sword lifted in front of FORGAEL.

      DECTORA.

      I will end all your magic on the instant.

      [Her voice becomes dreamy, and she lowers the sword slowly, and finally lets it fall. She spreads out her hair. She takes off her crown and lays it upon the deck.

      This sword is to lie beside him in the grave.

      It was in all his battles. I will spread my hair,

      And wring my hands, and wail him bitterly,

      For I have heard that he was proud and laughing,

      Blue-eyed, and a quick runner on bare feet,

      And that he died a thousand years ago.

      O! O! O!

      [FORGAEL changes the tune.

      But no, that is not it.

      I knew him well, and while I heard him laughing

      They killed him at my feet. O! O! O! O!

      For golden-armed Iollan that I loved.

      But what is it that made me say I loved him?

      It was that harper put it in my thoughts,

      But it is true. Why did they run upon him,

      And beat the golden helmet with their swords?

      FORGAEL.

      Do you not know me, lady? I am he

      That you are weeping for.

      DECTORA.

      No, for he is dead.

      O! O! O! for golden-armed Iollan.

      FORGAEL.

      It was so given out, but I will prove

      That the grave-diggers in a dreamy frenzy

      Have buried nothing but my golden arms.

      Listen to that low-laughing string of the moon

      And you will recollect my face and voice,

      For you have listened to me playing it

      These thousand years.

      [He starts up, listening to the birds. The harp slips from his hands, and remains leaning against the bulwarks behind him. The light goes out of it.

      What are the birds at there?

      Why are they all a-flutter of a sudden?

      What are you calling out above the mast?

      If railing and reproach and mockery

      Because I have awakened her to love

      My magic strings, I’ll make this answer to it:

      Being driven on by voices and by dreams

      That were clear messages from the ever-living,

      I have done right. What could I but obey?

      And yet you make a clamour of reproach.

      DECTORA [laughing].

      Why, it’s a wonder out of reckoning

      That I should keen him from the full of the