LITMIR.BIZ

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      Speak lower, or they’ll hear.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      They cannot hear;

      They are too busy with each other. Look!

      He has stooped down and kissed her on the lips.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      When she finds out we have better men aboard

      She may not be too sorry in the end.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      She will be like a wild cat; for these queens

      Care more about the kegs of silver and gold,

      And the high fame that come to them in marriage,

      Than a strong body and a ready hand.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      There’s nobody is natural but a robber,

      And that is why the world totters about

      Upon its bandy legs.

      AIBRIC.

      Run at them now,

      And overpower the crew while yet asleep!

      [The SAILORS go out.

      [Voices and the clashing of swords are heard from the other ship, which cannot be seen because of the sail.

      A VOICE.

      Armed men have come upon us! O, I am slain!

      ANOTHER VOICE.

      Wake all below!

      ANOTHER VOICE.

      Why have you broken our sleep?

      FIRST VOICE.

      Armed men have come upon us! O, I am slain!

      FORGAEL.

       [Who has remained at the tiller.]

      There! there they come! Gull, gannet, or diver,

      But with a man’s head, or a fair woman’s,

      They hover over the masthead awhile

      To wait their friends; but when their friends have come

      They’ll fly upon that secret way of theirs.

      One—and one—a couple—five together;

      And I will hear them talking in a minute.

      Yes, voices! but I do not catch the words.

      Now I can hear. There’s one of them that says:

      ‘How light we are, now we are changed to birds!’

      Another answers: ‘Maybe we shall find

      Our heart’s desire now that we are so light.’

      And then one asks another how he died,

      And says: ‘A sword-blade pierced me in my sleep.’

      And now they all wheel suddenly and fly

      To the other side, and higher in the air.

      And now a laggard with a woman’s head

      Comes crying, ‘I have run upon the sword.

      I have fled to my beloved in the air,

      In the waste of the high air, that we may wander

      Among the windy meadows of the dawn.’

      But why are they still waiting? why are they

      Circling and circling over the masthead?

      What power that is more mighty than desire

      To hurry to their hidden happiness

      Withholds them now? Have the ever-living ones

      A meaning in that circling overhead?

      But what’s the meaning? [He cries out.] Why do you linger there?

      Why do you not run to your desire,

      Now that you have happy winged bodies?

      [His voice sinks again.

      Being too busy in the air and the high air,

      They cannot hear my voice; but what’s the meaning?

      [The SAILORS have returned. DECTORA is with them. She is dressed in pale green, with copper ornaments on her dress, and has a copper crown upon her head. Her hair is dull red.

      FORGAEL.

       [Turning and seeing her.]

      Why are you standing with your eyes upon me?

      You are not the world’s core. O no, no, no!

      That cannot be the meaning of the birds.

      You are not its core. My teeth are in the world,

      But have not bitten yet.

      DECTORA.

      I am a queen,

      And ask for satisfaction upon these

      Who have slain my husband and laid hands upon me.

      [Breaking loose from the SAILORS who are holding her.]

      Let go my hands!

      FORGAEL.

      Why do you cast a shadow?

      Where do you come from? Who brought you to this place?

      They would not send me one that casts a shadow.

      DECTORA.

      Would that the storm that overthrew my ships,

      And drowned the treasures of nine conquered nations,

      And blew me hither to my lasting sorrow,

      Had drowned me also. But, being yet alive,

      I ask a fitting punishment for all

      That raised their hands against him.

      FORGAEL.

      There are some

      That weigh and measure all in these waste seas—

      They that have all the wisdom that’s in life,

      And all that prophesying images

      Made of dim gold rave out in secret tombs;

      They have it that the plans of kings and queens

      Are dust on the moth’s wing; that nothing matters

      But laughter and tears—laughter, laughter, and tears;

      That every man should carry his own soul

      Upon his shoulders.

      DECTORA.

      You’ve nothing but wild words,

      And I would know if you will give me vengeance.

      FORGAEL.

      When she finds out I will not let her go—

      When she knows that.

      DECTORA.

      What is it that you are muttering—

      That you’ll not let me go? I am a queen.

      FORGAEL.

      Although you are more beautiful than any,

      I almost long that it were possible;

      But if I were to put you on that ship,

      With

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