FATHER HART.

I love you.

THE CHILD.

But you love Him above.

BRIDGET BRUIN.

She is blaspheming.

THE CHILD (to MAIRE).

And do you likewise love me?

MAIRE BRUIN.

I don’t know.

THE CHILD.

You love that great tall fellow over there: 
Yet I could make you ride upon the winds,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame!

MAIRE BRUIN.

Queen of the Angels and kind Saints defend us! 
Some dreadful fate has fallen:  before she came
The wind cried out and took the primroses. 
And I gave milk and fire, and when she came
She made you hide the blessed crucifix;
She wears, too, the green jacket and red cap
Of the unholy creatures of the Raths.

FATHER HART.

You fear because of her wild, pretty prates;
She knows no better.
      (To the CHILD) Child, how old are you?

THE CHILD.

My own dear people live a long, long time,
So I am young; but measure by your years
And I am older than the eagle cock
Who blinks and blinks on Ballydawley Hill,
And he’s the oldest thing under the moon. 
At times I merely care to dance and dance—­
At times grow wiser than the eagle cock.

FATHER HART.

What are you?

THE CHILD.

I am of the faery people. 
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,
And then I heard one call to me and came.

[They all except MAIRE BRUIN gather about the priest for protection. 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.