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On metal Goban 'd hammered at,

On old deep silver rolling there
Or on somc still unemptied cup

That he, when frenzy stirred his thews,
Had hammered out on mountain top

To hold the sacred stuff he brews
That only gods may buy of him.

Now from that juice that made them wise
All those had lifted up the dim

Imaginations of their eyes,
For one that was like woman made

Before their sleepy eyelids ran
And trembling with her passion said,

"Come out and dig for a dead man,
Who's burrowing Somewhere in the ground

And mock him to his face and then
Hollo him on with horse and hound,

For he is the worst of all dead men.'
<1We should be dazed and terror-struck,

If we but saw in dreams that room,
Those wine-drenched eyes, and curse our luck

That empticd all our days to come.
I knew a woman none could please,

Because she dreamed when but a child
Of men and women made like these;

And after, when her blood ran wild,
Had ravelled her own story out,

And said, "In two or in three years
I needs must marry some poor lout,'

And having said it, burst in tears.
Since, tavern comrades, you have died,

Maybe your images have stood,
Mere bone and muscle thrown aside,

Before that roomful or as good.
You had to face your ends when young --

'Twas wine or women, or some curse --
But never made a poorer song

That you might have a heavier purse,>1
i{Nor gave loud service to a cause}

i{That you might have a troop of friends,}
i{You kept the Muses' sterner laws,}

i{And unrepenting faced your ends,}
i{And therefore earned the right -- and yet}

i{Dowson and Johnson most I praise -- }
i{To troop with those the world's forgot,}

i{And copy their proud steady gaze.}
"The Danish troop was driven out

Between the dawn and dusk,' she said;
"Although the event was long in doubt.

Although the King of Ireland's dead
And half the kings, before sundown

All was accomplished.
"When this day

Murrough, the King of Ireland's son,
Foot after foot was giving way,

He and his best troops back to back
Had perished there, but the Danes ran,

Stricken with panic from the attack,
The shouting of an unseen man;

And being thankful Murrough found,
Led by a footsole dipped in blood

That had made prints upon the ground,
Where by old thorn-trees that man stood;

And though when he gazed here and there,
He had but gazed on thorn-trees, spoke,

""Who is the friend that seems but air
And yet could give so fine a stroke?''

Thereon a young man met his eye,
Who said, ""Because she held me in

Her love, and would not have me die,
Rock-nurtured Aoife took a pin,

And pushing it into my shirt,
Promised that for a pin's sake

No man should see to do me hurt;
But there it's gone; I will not take

The fortune that had been my shame
Seeing, King's son, what wounds you have. --

'Twas roundly spoke, but when night came
He had betrayed me to his grave,

For he and the King's son were dead.
I'd promised him two hundred years,

And when for all I'd done or said --
And these immortal eyes shed tears --

He claimed his country's need was most,
I'd saved his life, yet for the sake

Of a new friend he has turned a ghost.
What does he cate if my heart break?

I call for spade and horse and hound
That we may harry him.' Thereon

She cast herself upon the ground
And rent her clothes and made her moan:

"Why are they faithless when their might
Is from the holy shades that rove

The grey rock and the windy light?
Why should the faithfullest heart most love

The bitter sweetness of false faces?
Why must the lasting love what passes,

Why are the gods by men betrayed?'
But thereon every god stood up

With a slow smile and without sound,
And Stretching forth his arm and cup

To where she moaned upon the ground,
Suddenly drenched her to the skin;

And she with Goban's wine adrip,
No more remembering what had been.

Stared at the gods with laughing lip.
i{I have kept my faith, though faith was tried,}

i{To that rock-born, rock-wandering foot,}
i{And thc world's altered since you died,}

i{And I am in no good repute}
i{With the loud host before the sea,}

i{That think sword-strokes were better meant}
i{Than lover's music -- let that be,}

i{So that the wandering foot's content.}
THE HAWK

"CALL down the hawk from the air;
Let him be hooded or caged

Till the yellow eye has grown mild,
For larder and spit are bare,

The old cook enraged,
The scullion gone wild.'

"I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,

Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood

In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.'

"What tumbling cloud did you cleave,
Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind,

Last evening? that I, who had sat
Dumbfounded before a knave,

Should give to my friend
A pretence of wit.'

THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN
A CURSING rogue with a merry face,

A bundle of rags upon a crutch,
Stumbled upon that windy place

Called Cruachan, and it was as much
As the one sturdy leg could do

To keep him upright while he cursed.
He had counted, where long years ago

Queen Maeve's nine Maines had been nursed,
A pair of lapwings, one old sheep,

And not a house to the plain's edge,
When close to his right hand a heap

Of grey stones and a rocky ledge
Reminded him that he could make.

If he but shifted a few stones,
A shelter till the daylight broke.

But while he fumbled with the stones
They toppled over; "Were it not

I have a lucky wooden shin
I had been hurt'; and toppling brought

Before his eyes, where stones had been,
A dark deep hollow in the rock.

He gave a gasp and thought to have fled,
Being certain it was no right rock

Because an ancient history said
Hell Mouth lay open near that place,

And yet stood still, because inside
A great lad with a beery face

Had tucked himself away beside
A ladle and a tub of beer,

And snored, no phantom by his look.
So with a laugh at his own fear

He crawled into that pleasant nook.
"Night grows uneasy near the dawn

Till even I sleep light; but who
Has tired of his own company?

What one of Maeve's nine brawling sons
Sick of his grave has wakened me?

But let him keep his grave for once
That I may find the sleep I have lost."

What care I if you sleep or wake?
But I'Il have no man call me ghost."

Say what you please, but from daybreak
I'll sleep another century."

And I will talk before I sleep
And drink before I talk.'

And he
Had dipped the wooden ladle deep

Into the sleeper's tub of beer
Had not the sleeper started up.

Before you have dipped it in the beer
I dragged from Goban's mountain-top

I'll have assurance that you are able
To value beer; no half-legged fool

Shall dip his nose into my ladle
Merely for stumbling on this hole

In the bad hour before the dawn."
Why beer is only beer.'

"But say
""I'll sleep until the winter's gone,

Or maybe to Midsummer Day,''
And drink and you will sleep that length.

"I'd like to sleep till winter's gone
Or till the sun is in his srrength.

This blast has chilled me to the bone.'
"I had no better plan at first.

I thought to wait for that or this;
Maybe the weather was accursed



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