_And no more turn aside and brood Upon Love’s bitter mystery; For Fergus rules the brazen cars, And rules the shadows of the wood, And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars._ THE SERVANT’S VOICE [_without_]. The Countess Cathleen must not be disturbed. ANOTHER VOICE. Man, I must see her. CATHLEEN. Who now wants me, Paudeen? SERVANT [_from the door_]. A herdsman and his history. CATHLEEN. He may come. [_The HERDSMAN enters from the door to R._ HERDSMAN. Forgive this dusty gear: I have come far. My sheep were taken from the fold last night. You will be angry: I am not to blame. But blame these robbing times. CATHLEEN. No blame’s with you. I blame the famine. HERDSMAN. Kneeling, I give thanks. When gazing on your face, the poorest, Lady, Forget their poverty, the rich their care. CATHLEEN. What rumours and what portents of the famine? HERDSMAN. As I came down the lane by Tubber-vanach A boy and man sat cross-legged on two stones, With moving hands and faces famine-thin, Gabbling to crowds of men and wives and boys Of how two merchants at a house in the woods Buy souls for hell, giving so great a price That men may live through all the dearth in plenty. The vales are famine-crazy—I am right glad My home is on the mountain near to God. [_He turns to go._ CATHLEEN. They will give you ale and meat before you go. You must have risen at dawn to come so far. Keep your bare mountain—let the world drift by, The burden of its wrongs rests not on you. HERDSMAN. I am content to serve your ladyship. [_He goes._ OONA. What did he say?—he stood on my deaf side. He seemed to give you word of woful things. CATHLEEN. A story born out of the dreaming eyes And crazy brain and credulous ears of famine. O, I am sadder than an old air, Oona, My heart is longing for a deeper peace Than Fergus found amid his brazen cars: Would that like Edain my first forebear’s daughter, Who followed once a twilight’s piercing tune, I could go down and dwell among the Sidhe In their old ever-busy honeyed land. OONA. You should not say such things—they bring ill-luck. CATHLEEN. The image of young Edain on the arras, Walking along, one finger lifted up; And that wild song of the unending dance Of the dim Danaan nations in their raths, Young Aleel sang for me by the great door, Before we lost him in the shadow of leaves, Have filled me full of all these wicked words. [_The SERVANT enters hastily, followed by three men. Two are peasants._ SERVANT. The steward of the castle brings two men To talk with you. STEWARD. And tell the strangest story The mouth of man has uttered. CATHLEEN.