But no, that is not it. I knew him well, and while I heard him laughing They killed him at my feet. O! O! O! O! For golden-armed Iollan that I loved. But what is it that made me say I loved him? It was that harper put it in my thoughts, But it is true. Why did they run upon him, And beat the golden helmet with their swords? FORGAEL. Do you not know me, lady? I am he That you are weeping for. DECTORA. No, for he is dead. O! O! O! for golden-armed Iollan. FORGAEL. It was so given out, but I will prove That the grave-diggers in a dreamy frenzy Have buried nothing but my golden arms. Listen to that low-laughing string of the moon And you will recollect my face and voice, For you have listened to me playing it These thousand years. [_He starts up, listening to the birds. The harp slips from his hands, and remains leaning against the bulwarks behind him. The light goes out of it._ What are the birds at there? Why are they all a-flutter of a sudden? What are you calling out above the mast? If railing and reproach and mockery Because I have awakened her to love My magic strings, I’ll make this answer to it: Being driven on by voices and by dreams That were clear messages from the ever-living, I have done right. What could I but obey? And yet you make a clamour of reproach. DECTORA [_laughing_]. Why, it’s a wonder out of reckoning That I should keen him from the full of the moon To the horn, and he be hale and hearty. FORGAEL. How have I wronged her now that she is merry? But no, no, no! your cry is not against me. You know the councils of the ever-living, And all that tossing of your wings is joy, And all that murmuring’s but a marriage song; But if it be reproach, I answer this: There is not one among you that made love By any other means. You call it passion, Consideration, generosity; But it was all deceit, and flattery To win a woman in her own despite, For love is war, and there is hatred in it; And if you say that she came willingly— DECTORA. Why do you turn away and hide your face, That I would look upon for ever? FORGAEL. My grief. DECTORA. Have I not loved you for a thousand years? FORGAEL. I never have been golden-armed Iollan. DECTORA. I do not understand. I know your face Better than my own hands. FORGAEL. I have deceived you Out of all reckoning. DECTORA. Is it not true That you were born a thousand years ago, In islands where the children of Aengus wind In happy dances under a windy moon, And that you’ll bring me there? FORGAEL. I have deceived you; I have deceived you utterly. DECTORA. How can that be? Is it that though your eyes are full of love Some other woman has a claim on you, And I’ve but half?