earing unto men.

DEIRDRE--I cannot now make clear to thee my remembrance of two of the
hunters, but the tallest of the three--oh, he stood like a flame against
the flameless sky, and the whole sapphire of the heavens seemed to live
in his fearless eyes! His hair was darker than the raven's wing, his
face dazzling in its fairness. He pointed with his great flame-bright
spear to the valley. His companions seemed in doubt, and pointed east
and west. Then in my dream I came nigh him and whispered in his ear, and
pointed the way through the valley to our dun. I looked into his
eyes, and he started like one who sees a vision; and I know, dear
fostermother, he will come here, and he will love me. Oh, I would die if
he did not love me!

LAVARCAM--Make haste, my child, and tell me was there aught else
memorable about this hero and his companions?

DEIRDRE--Yes, I remember each had the likeness of a torch shedding rays
of gold embroidered on the breast.

LAVARCAM--Deirdre, Deirdre, these are no phantoms, but living heroes!
O wise king, the eyes of the spirit thou wouldst open have seen farther
than the eyes of the body thou wouldst blind! The Druid vision has only
revealed to this child her destiny.

DEIRDRE--Why do you talk so strangely, fostermother?

LAVARCAM--Concobar, I will not fight against the will of the immortals.
I am not thy servant, but theirs. Let the Red Branch fall! If the gods
scatter it they have chosen to guide the people of Ulla in another I
path.

DEIRDRE--What has disturbed your mind, dear foster-mother? What have
I to do with the Red Branch? And why should the people of Ulla fall
because of me?

LAVARCAM--O Deirdre, there were no warriors created could overcome the
Red Branch. The gods have but smiled on this proud chivalry through
thine eyes, and they are already melted. The waving of thy hand is
more powerful to subdue than the silver rod of the king to sustain. Thy
golden hair shall be the flame to burn up Ulla.

DEIDRE--Oh, what do you mean by these fateful prophecies? You fill me
with terror. Why should a dream so gentle and sweet portend sorrow?

LAVARCAM--Dear golden head, cast sorrow aside for a time. The Father has
not yet struck the last chords on the harp of life. The chords of joy
have but begun for thee.

DEIRDRE--You confuse my mind, dear fostermother, with your speech of joy
and sorrow. It is not your wont. Indeed, I think my dream portends joy.

LAVARCAM--It is love, Deirdre,