The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

I will strike him first. No! for that music of his might put a beast’s head upon my shoulders, or it may be two heads and they devouring one another.

      Dectora. I’ll give a golden galley full of fruit

      That has the heady flavour of new wine

      To him that wounds him to the death.

      First Sailor. I’ll strike at him. His spells, when he dies, will die with him and vanish away.

      Second Sailor. I’ll strike at him.

      The Others. And I! And I! And I!

      [FORGAEL plays upon the harp.]

      First Sailor [falling into a dream]. It is what they are saying, there is some person dead in the other ship; we have to go and wake him. They did not say what way he came to his end, but it was sudden.

      Second Sailor. You are right, you are right. We have to go to that wake.

      Dectora. He has flung a Druid spell upon the air,

      And set you dreaming.

      Second Sailor. What way can we raise a keen, not knowing what name to call him by?

      First Sailor. Come on to his ship. His name will come to mind in a moment. All I know is he died a thousand years ago, and was never yet waked.

      Second Sailor. How can we wake him having no ale?

      First Sailor. I saw a skin of ale aboard her—a pigskin of brown ale.

      Third Sailor. Come to the ale, a pigskin of brown ale, a goatskin of yellow.

      First Sailor [singing]. Brown ale and yellow; yellow and brown ale; a goatskin of yellow.

      All [singing]. Brown ale and yellow; yellow and brown ale!

      [Sailors go out.

      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 singing of the SAILORS from the other ship. DECTORA stands with the sword lifted in front of FORGAEL. He changes the tune.

      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.

      The 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.

      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

      By 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 moon

      To the horn, and he be hale and hearty.

      Forgael. How have I wronged her now that she is merry?

      But no, no, no! your cry is not against me.

      You know the councils of the ever-living,

      And all the tossing of your wings is joy,

      And all that murmuring’s but a marriage song;

      But if it be reproach, I answer this:

      There is not one among you that made love

      By any other means. You call it passion,

      Consideration, generosity;

      But it was all deceit, and flattery

      To win a woman in her own despite,

      For love is war, and there is hatred in it;

      And if you say that she came willingly—

      Dectora. Why do you turn away and hide your face,

      That