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.

                        SHAWN
  Awake out of that trance, and cover up
  Your eyes and ears.

  FATHER HART
  She must both look and listen,
  For only the soul’s choice can save her now. 
  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 the crucifix. 
  And my invisible brethren fill the house;
  I hear their footsteps going up and down. 
  Oh, they shall soon rule all the hearts of men
  And own all lands; last night they merrily danced
  About his chapel belfry! (To MAIRE) Come away,
  I hear my brethren bidding us away!

                        FATHER HART
  I will go fetch the crucifix again.

    (They hang about him in terror and prevent him from
      moving.)

                        BRIDGET BRUIN
  The enchanted flowers will kill us if you go.

                        MAURTEEN BRUIN
  They turn the flowers to little twisted flames.

                        SHAWN BRUIN
  The little twisted flames burn up the heart.

                        THE CHILD
  I hear them crying, “Newly married bride,
  Come to the woods and waters and pale lights.”

                        MARIE BRUIN
  I will go with you.

                        FATHER HART
                    She is lost, alas!

                        THE CHILD (standing by the door)
  But clinging mortal hope must fall from you: 
  For we who ride the winds, run on the waves
  And dance upon the mountains, are more light
  Than dewdrops on the banners of the dawn.

MARIE BRUIN
Oh, take me with you.