How a Princess Edene, A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard A voice singing on a May eve like this, And followed, half awake and half asleep, Until she came into the land of faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue; And she is still there, busied with a dance. Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood, Or where stars walk upon a mountain top. MAURTEEN BRUIN. Persuade the colleen to put by the book: My grandfather would mutter just such things, And he was no judge of a dog or horse, And any idle boy could blarney him. Just speak your mind. FATHER HART. Put it away, my colleen. God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days, And then come the wrecked angels and set snares, And bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams, Until the heart is puffed with pride and goes, Half shuddering and half joyous, from God's peace; And it was some wrecked angel, blind tears, Who flattered Edene's heart with merry words. My colleen, I have seen some other girls Restless and ill at ease, but years went by And they grew like their neighbours and were glad In minding children, working at the churn, And gossiping of weddings and of wakes; For life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age bring the red flare again. SHAWN BRUIN. Yet do not blame her greatly, Father Hart, For she is dull while I am in the fields, And mother's tongue were harder still to bear, But for her fancies: this is May Eve too, When the good people post about the world, And surely one may think of them to-night. Maire, have you the primroses to fling Before the door to make a golden path For them to bring good luck into the house. Remember, they may steal new-married brides Upon May Eve. MAIRE BRUIN _(going over to the window and taking the flowers from the bowl.)_ Here are the primroses. [_She goes to the door and strews the primroses outside._ FATHER HART. You do well, daughter, because God permits Great power to the good people on May Eve. MAURTEEN BRUIN. They can work all their will with primroses-- Change them to golden money, or little flames To burn up those who do them any wrong. MAIRE BRUIN. I had no sooner flung them by the door Than the wind cried and hurried them away. BRIDGET BRUIN. May God have mercy on us! MAIRE BRUIN. The good people Will not be lucky to the house this year, But I am glad that I was courteous to them, For are not they, likewise, children of God? FATHER HART. No, child; they are the children of the fiend, And they have power until the end of Time, When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle And hack them into pieces. MAIRE BRUIN. He will smile, Father, perhaps, and open his great door, FATHER HART.