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Read Ebook: The Land of Heart's Desire by Yeats W B William Butler
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Ebook has 297 lines and 7562 words, and 6 pages
LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. 335 Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius
The Land of Heart's Desire
W.B. Yeats
HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY GIRARD, KANSAS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE
PERSONS
MAURTEEN BRUIN. SHAWN BRUIN. FATHER HART. BRIDGET BRUIN. MAIRE BRUIN. A FAERY CHILD.
THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE
BRIDGET BRUIN.
Because I bade her go and feed the calves, She took that old book down out of the thatch And has been doubled over it all day. We would be deafened by her groans and moans Had she to work as some do, Father Hart, Get up at dawn like me, and mend and scour; Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you, The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.
SHAWN BRUIN.
You are too cross.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
The young side with the young.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times, And is too deep just now in the old book; But do not blame her greatly; she will grow As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree When but the moons of marriage dawn and die For half a score of times.
FATHER HART
Their hearts are wild As be the hearts of birds, till children come.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
She would not mind the griddle, milk the cow, Or even lay the knives and spread the cloth.
FATHER HART.
I never saw her read a book before: What may it be?
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
I do not rightly know: It has been in the thatch for fifty years. My father told me my grandfather wrote it, Killed a red heifer and bound it with the hide. But draw your chair this way--supper is spread; And little good he got out of the book, Because it filled his house with roaming bards, And roaming ballad-makers and the like, And wasted all his goods.--Here is the wine; The griddle bread's beside you, Father Hart. Colleen, what have you got there in the book That you must leave the bread to cool? Had I, Or had my father, read or written books There were no stockings full of silver and gold To come, when I am dead, to Shawn and you.
FATHER HART.
You should not fill your head with foolish dreams. What are you reading?
MAIRE BRUIN.
How a Princess Edene, A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard A voice singing on a May eve like this, And followed, half awake and half asleep, Until she came into the land of faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue; And she is still there, busied with a dance. Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood, Or where stars walk upon a mountain top.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
Persuade the colleen to put by the book: My grandfather would mutter just such things, And he was no judge of a dog or horse, And any idle boy could blarney him. Just speak your mind.
FATHER HART.
Put it away, my colleen. God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days, And then come the wrecked angels and set snares, And bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams, Until the heart is puffed with pride and goes, Half shuddering and half joyous, from God's peace; And it was some wrecked angel, blind tears, Who flattered Edene's heart with merry words. My colleen, I have seen some other girls Restless and ill at ease, but years went by And they grew like their neighbours and were glad In minding children, working at the churn, And gossiping of weddings and of wakes; For life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age bring the red flare again.
SHAWN BRUIN.
Yet do not blame her greatly, Father Hart, For she is dull while I am in the fields, And mother's tongue were harder still to bear, But for her fancies: this is May Eve too, When the good people post about the world, And surely one may think of them to-night. Maire, have you the primroses to fling Before the door to make a golden path For them to bring good luck into the house. Remember, they may steal new-married brides Upon May Eve.
Here are the primroses.
FATHER HART.
You do well, daughter, because God permits Great power to the good people on May Eve.
MAURTEEN BRUIN.
They can work all their will with primroses-- Change them to golden money, or little flames To burn up those who do them any wrong.
MAIRE BRUIN.
I had no sooner flung them by the door Than the wind cried and hurried them away.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
May God have mercy on us!
MAIRE BRUIN.
The good people Will not be lucky to the house this year, But I am glad that I was courteous to them, For are not they, likewise, children of God?
FATHER HART.
No, child; they are the children of the fiend, And they have power until the end of Time, When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle And hack them into pieces.
MAIRE BRUIN.
He will smile, Father, perhaps, and open his great door,
FATHER HART.
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