tection._ MAIRE BRUIN _stays on the settle as if in a trance of
terror. The_ CHILD _takes primroses from the great bowl and begins to
strew them between herself and the priest and about_ MAIRE BRUIN.
_During the following dialogue_ SHAWN BRUIN _goes more than once to
the brink of the primroses, but shrinks back to the others timidly._

FATHER HART.

I will confront this mighty spirit alone.

[_They cling to him and hold him back._

THE CHILD (_while she strews the primroses.)

No one whose heart is heavy with human tears
Can cross these little cressets of the wood.

FATHER HART.

Be not afraid, the Father is with us,
And all the nine angelic hierarchies,
The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents,
The adoring Magi in their coats of mail,
And He who died and rose on the third day,
And Mary with her seven times wounded heart.

[_The_ CHILD _ceases strewing the primroses, and kneels upon the settle
beside_ MAIRE _and puts her arms about her neck._

Cry daughter to the Angels and the Saints.

THE CHILD.

You shall go with me, newly-married bride,
And gaze upon a merrier multitude:
White-armed Nuala and Ardroe the Wise,
Feacra of the hurtling foam, and him
Who is the ruler of the western host,
Finvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire,
Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood,
But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.
I kiss you and the world begins to fade.

FATHER HART.

Daughter, I call you unto home and love!

THE CHILD.

Stay, and come with me, newly-married bride,
For, if you hear him, you grow like the rest:
Bear children, cook, be mindful of the churn,
And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs,
And sit at last there, old and bitter of tongue,
Watching the white stars war upon your hopes.

FATHER HART.

Daughter, I point you out the way to heaven!

THE CHILD.

But I can lead you, newly-married bride,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue,
And where kind tongues bring no captivity,
For we are only true to the far lights
We follow singing, over valley and hill.

FATHER HART.

By the dear name of the one crucified,
I bid you, Maire Bruin, come to me.

THE CHILD.

I keep you in the name of your own heart!

[_She leaves the settle, and stooping takes up a mass of primroses and
kisses them._

We have great power to-night, dear golden folk
For he took down and hid