LITMIR.BIZ

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one with angels or with us,

      Nor risen in arms with evil nor with good,

      In laughter roves the litter of the waves.

      [A crowd of faces fill up the darkness outside the window. A figure separates from the others and speaks.

      THE SPIRIT.

      We come unwillingly, for she whose gold

      We must now carry to the house in the woods

      Is dear to all our race. On the green plain,

      Beside the sea, a hundred shepherds live

      To mind her sheep; and when the nightfall comes

      They leave a hundred pans of white ewes’ milk

      Outside their doors, to feed us when the dawn

      Has driven us out of Finbar’s ancient house,

      And broken the long dance under the hill.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

       [Making a sign upon the air.]

      Obey! I make a sign upon your hearts.

      THE SPIRIT.

      The sign of evil burns upon our hearts,

      And we obey.

      [They crowd through the window, and take out of the bags a small bag each. They are dressed in green robes and have ruddy hair. They are a little less than the size of men and women.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      And now begone—begone! [They go.

      I bid them go, for, being garrulous

      And flighty creatures, they had soon begun

      To deafen us with their sea-gossip. Now

      We must go bring more money. Brother, brother,

      I long to see my master’s face again,

      For I turn homesick.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      I too tire of toil.

      [They go out, and return as before, with their bags full.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      [Pointing to the oratory.]

      How may we gain this woman for our lord?

      This pearl, this turquoise fastened in his crown

      Would make it shine like His we dare not name.

      Now that the winds are heavy with our kind,

      Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit

      Before the mob of angels were astir?

      [A diadem and a heap of jewels fall from the bag.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      Who tore the bag?

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      The finger of Priest John

      When he fled through the leather. I had thought

      Because his was an old and little spirit

      The tear would hardly matter.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      This comes, brother,

      Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours.

      If we would win this turquoise for our lord,

      It must go dropping down of its freewill.

      She will have heard the noise. She will stifle us

      With holy names.

      [He goes to the oratory door and opens it a little, and then closes it.]

      No, she has fallen asleep.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      The noise wakened the household. While you spoke

      I heard chairs moved, and heard folk’s shuffling feet.

      And now they are coming hither.

      A VOICE [within].

      It was here.

      ANOTHER VOICE.

      No, further away.

      ANOTHER VOICE.

      It was in the western tower.

      ANOTHER VOICE.

      Come quickly; we will search the western tower.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      We still have time—they search the distant rooms.

      Call hither the fading and the unfading fires.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      [Going to the window.]

      There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence—

      Unwilling labourers.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      I will draw them in.

      [He cries through the window.

      Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died

      In drunken sleep, and by each other’s hands

      When they had bartered you—come hither all

      Who mourn among the scenery of your sins,

      Turning to animal and reptile forms,

      The visages of passions; hither, hither—

      Leave marshes and the reed-encumbered pools,

      You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men,

      And are a fading wretchedness.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      They come not.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

       [Making a sign upon the air.]

      Come hither, hither, hither.

      SECOND MERCHANT.

      I can hear

      A crying as of storm-distempered reeds.

      The fading and the unfading fires rise up

      Like steam out of the earth; the grass and leaves

      Shiver and shrink away and sway about,

      Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      They are one with all the beings of decay,

      Ill longings, madness, lightning, famine, drouth.

      [The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms, some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights.

      Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags.

      A SPIRIT.

      We are too violent; mere shapes of storm.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags.

      A SPIRIT.

      We are too feeble, fading out of life.

      FIRST MERCHANT.

      Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,

      And still wear human shape: the shape of power.

      [The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain.

      Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.

      FIRST PEASANT.

      Yes, yes!

      Unwillingly, unwillingly;

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