Suddenly Ailell spoke out of his sleep, And not with his own voice or a man’s voice, But with the burning, live, unshaken voice Of those that it may be can never age. He said, ‘High Queen of Cruachan and Magh Ai, A king of the Great Plain would speak with you.’ And with glad voice Maeve answered him, ‘What king Of the far wandering shadows has come to me? As in the old days when they would come and go About my threshold to counsel and to help.’ The parted lips replied, ‘I seek your help, For I am Aengus, and I am crossed in love.’ ‘How may a mortal whose life gutters out Help them that wander with hand clasping hand, Their haughty images that cannot wither For all their beauty’s like a hollow dream, Mirrored in streams that neither hail nor rain Nor the cold North has troubled?’ He replied: ‘I am from those rivers and I bid you call The children of the Maines out of sleep, And set them digging into Anbual’s hill. We shadows, while they uproot his earthy house, Will overthrow his shadows and carry off Caer, his blue-eyed daughter that I love. I helped your fathers when they built these walls, And I would have your help in my great need, Queen of high Cruachan.’ ‘I obey your will With speedy feet and a most thankful heart: For you have been, O Aengus of the birds, Our giver of good counsel and good luck.’ And with a groan, as if the mortal breath Could but awaken sadly upon lips That happier breath had moved, her husband turned Face downward, tossing in a troubled sleep; But Maeve, and not with a slow feeble foot, Came to the threshold of the painted house, Where her grandchildren slept, and cried aloud, Until the pillared dark began to stir With shouting and the clang of unhooked arms. She told them of the many-changing ones; And all that night, and all through the next day To middle night, they dug into the hill. At middle night great cats with silver claws, Bodies of shadow and blind eyes like pearls, Came up out of the hole, and red-eared hounds With long white bodies came out of the air Suddenly, and ran at them and harried them. The Maines’ children dropped their spades, and stood With quaking joints and terror-strucken faces, Till Maeve called out: ‘These are but common men. The Maines’ children have not dropped their spades, Because Earth, crazy for its broken power, Casts up a show and the winds answer it With holy shadows.’ Her high heart was glad, And when the uproar ran along the grass She followed with light footfall in the midst, Till it died out where an old thorn tree stood.