You love that great tall fellow over there: Yet I could make you ride upon the winds, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame! MAIRE BRUIN. Queen of the Angels and kind Saints defend us! Some dreadful fate has fallen: before she came The wind cried out and took the primroses. And I gave milk and fire, and when she came She made you hide the blessed crucifix; She wears, too, the green jacket and red cap Of the unholy creatures of the Raths. FATHER HART. You fear because of her wild, pretty prates; She knows no better. (_To the_ CHILD) Child, how old are you? THE CHILD. My own dear people live a long, long time, So I am young; but measure by your years And I am older than the eagle cock Who blinks and blinks on Ballydawley Hill, And he's the oldest thing under the moon. At times I merely care to dance and dance-- At times grow wiser than the eagle cock. FATHER HART. What are you? THE CHILD. I am of the faery people. I sent my messengers for milk and fire, And then I heard one call to me and came. [_They all except_ MAIRE BRUIN _gather about the priest for protection._ MAIRE BRUIN _stays on the settle as if in a trance of terror. The_ CHILD _takes primroses from the great bowl and begins to strew them between herself and the priest and about_ MAIRE BRUIN. _During the following dialogue_ SHAWN BRUIN _goes more than once to the brink of the primroses, but shrinks back to the others timidly._ FATHER HART. I will confront this mighty spirit alone. [_They cling to him and hold him back._ THE CHILD (_while she strews the primroses.) No one whose heart is heavy with human tears Can cross these little cressets of the wood. FATHER HART. Be not afraid, the Father is with us, And all the nine angelic hierarchies, The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents, The adoring Magi in their coats of mail, And He who died and rose on the third day, And Mary with her seven times wounded heart. [_The_ CHILD _ceases strewing the primroses, and kneels upon the settle beside_ MAIRE _and puts her arms about her neck._ Cry daughter to the Angels and the Saints. THE CHILD. You shall go with me, newly-married bride, And gaze upon a merrier multitude: White-armed Nuala and Ardroe the Wise, Feacra of the hurtling foam, and him Who is the ruler of the western host, Finvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire, Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song. I kiss you and the world begins to fade. FATHER HART. Daughter, I call you unto home and love! THE CHILD. Stay, and come with me, newly-married bride, For, if you hear him, you grow like the rest: Bear children, cook, be mindful of the churn, And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs, And sit at last there, old and bitter of tongue, Watching the white stars war upon your hopes. FATHER HART. Daughter, I point you out the way to heaven! THE CHILD.