Close to the altar Broken by wind and frost and worn by time Donogh O'Brien has a tomb, a name in Latin. He wore fine clothes and knew the secrets of women But he rebelled against the King of Thomond And died in his youth. YOUNG MAN And why should he rebel? The King of Thomond was his rightful master. It was men like Donogh who made Ireland weak-- My curse on all that troop, and when I die I'll leave my body, if I have any choice, Far from his ivy tod and his owl; have those Who, if your tale is true, work out a penance Upon the mountain-top where I am to hide, Come from the Abbey graveyard? THE GIRL They have not that luck, But are more lonely, those that are buried there, Warred in the heat of the blood; if they were rebels Some momentary impulse made them rebels Or the comandment of some petty king Who hated Thomond. Being but common sinners, No callers in of the alien from oversea They and their enemies of Thomond's party Mix in a brief dream battle above their bones, Or make one drove or drift in amity, Or in the hurry of the heavenly round Forget their earthly names; these are alone Being accursed. YOUNG MAN And if what seems is true And there are more upon the other side Than on this side of death, many a ghost Must meet them face to face and pass the word Even upon this grey and desolate hill. YOUNG GIRL Until this hour no ghost or living man Has spoken though seven centuries have run Since they, weary of life and of men's eyes, Flung down their bones in some forgotten place Being accursed. YOUNG MAN I have heard that there are souls Who, having sinned after a monstrous fashion Take on them, being dead, a monstrous image To drive the living, should they meet its face, Crazy, and be a terror to the dead. YOUNG GIRL But these Were comely even in their middle life And carry, now that they are dead, the image Of their first youth, for it was in that youth Their sin began. YOUNG MAN I have heard of angry ghosts Who wander in a wilful solitude. THE GIRL These have no thought but love; nor joy But that upon the instant when their penance Draws to its height and when two hearts are wrung Nearest to breaking, if hearts of shadows break, His eyes can mix with hers; nor any pang That is so bitter as that double glance, Being accursed. YOUNG MAN But what is this strange penance-- That when their eyes have met can wring them most? THE GIRL Though eyes can meet, their lips can never meet. YOUNG MAN And yet it seems they wander side by side. But doubtless you would say that when lips meet And have not living nerves, it is no meeting. THE GIRL