Yes, yes, white birds. He bids you leave this house With some old trusty serving-man, who will feed All that are starving and shelter all that wander While there is food and house-room. CATHLEEN. He bids me go Where none of mortal creatures but the swan Dabbles, and there you would pluck the harp when the trees Had made a heavy shadow about our door, And talk among the rustling of the reeds When night hunted the foolish sun away, With stillness and pale tapers. No—no—no. I cannot. Although I weep, I do not weep Because that life would be most happy, and here I find no way, no end. Nor do I weep Because I had longed to look upon your face, But that a night of prayer has made me weary. ALEEL. [_Throwing his arms about her feet._] Let Him that made mankind, the angels and devils And death and plenty mend what He has made, For when we labour in vain and eye still sees Heart breaks in vain. CATHLEEN. How would that quiet end? ALEEL. How but in healing? CATHLEEN. You have seen my tears. And I can see your hand shake on the floor. ALEEL [_faltering_]. I thought but of healing. He was angelical. CATHLEEN. [_Turning away from him._] No, not angelical, but of the old gods, Who wander about the world to waken the heart— The passionate, proud heart that all the angels Leaving nine heavens empty would rock to sleep. [_She goes to the chapel door; ALEEL holds his clasped hands towards her for a moment hesitatingly, and then lets them fall beside him._ Do not hold out to me beseeching hands. This heart shall never waken on earth. I have sworn By her whose heart the seven sorrows have pierced To pray before this altar until my heart Has grown to Heaven like a tree, and there Rustled its leaves till Heaven has saved my people. ALEEL [_who has risen_]. When one so great has spoken of love to one So little as I, although to deny him love, What can he but hold out beseeching hands, Then let them fall beside him, knowing how greatly They have overdared? [_He goes towards the door of the hall. The COUNTESS CATHLEEN takes a few steps towards him._ CATHLEEN. If the old tales are true, Queens have wed shepherds and kings beggar-maids; God’s procreant waters flowing about your mind Have made you more than kings or queens; and not you But I am the empty pitcher. ALEEL. Being silent, I have said all—farewell, farewell; and yet no, Give me your hand to kiss. CATHLEEN. I kiss your brow, But will not say farewell. I am often weary, And I would hear the harp-string. ALEEL.