oing and ever
going a drifting through the wide world, without a person with him but
himself. There is not a morning in the week when I rise up that I do not
say to myself that it would be better to be in the grave than to be
wandering. There is nothing standing to me but the gift I got from God,
my share of songs; when I begin upon them, my grief and my trouble go
from me; I forget my persecution and my ill luck; and now since I saw
you, Oona, I see there is something that is better even than the songs.

OONA. Poetry is a wonderful gift from God; and as long as you
have that, you are richer than the people of stock and store, the people
of cows and cattle.

HANRAHAN. Ah, Oona, it is a great blessing, but it is a great
curse as well for a man, he to be a poet. Look at me: have I a friend in
this world? Is there a man alive that has a wish for me? is there the
love of anyone at all on me? I am going like a poor lonely barnacle
goose throughout the world; like Oisin after the Fenians; every person
hates me: you do not hate me, Oona?

OONA. Do not say a thing like that; it is impossible that
anyone would hate you.

HANRAHAN. Come and we will sit in the corner of the room
together; and I will tell you the little song I made for you; it is for
you I made it. (_They go to a corner and sit down together._
SHEELA _comes in at the door._)

SHEELA. I came to you as quick as I could.

MAURYA. And a hundred welcomes to you.

SHEELA. What have you going on now?

MAURYA. Beginning we are; we had one jig, and now the piper is
drinking a glass. They'll begin dancing again in a minute when the piper
is ready.

SHEELA. There are a good many people gathering in to you
to-night. We will have a fine dance.

MAURYA. Maybe so, Sheela; but there's a man of them there, and
I'd sooner him out than in.

SHEELA. It's about the long red man you are talking, isn't
it--the man that is in close talk with Oona in the corner? Where is he
from, and who is he himself?

MAURYA. That's the greatest vagabond ever came into Ireland;
Tumaus Hanrahan they call him; but it's Hanrahan the rogue he ought to
have been christened by right. Aurah, wasn't there the misfortune on me,
him to come in to us at all to-night?

SHEELA. What sort of a person is he? Isn't he a man that makes
songs, out of Connacht? I heard talk of him before; and they say there
is not another dancer in Ireland so good as him. I would like to see him
dance.

MAURYA. Bad luc