A certain poet in outlandishes

    Gatine lane,

    talked1 of ry and its people, sang

    to some stringed instrument none there had seen,

    A wall behind his back, over his head

    A latticed  time

    As tened there, and his voice sank

    Or let its meaning mix into trings.

    MAEVE t queen o and fro,

    Beten bronze,

    In  Cruach,

    Flickering  half showed

    ired he rushes,

    Or on the walls,

    In comfortable sleep; all living slept

    But t great queen, w

    o fire and fire to door.

    though now in her old age, in her young age

    Siful in t old way

    ts all but gone; for t is gone,

    And t of ting-house fears all

    But Soft beauty and indolent desire.

    She world

    ever womans lover  her fancy,

    And yet -bodied and great-limbed,

    Faso be trong children;

    And s,

    And  caughe dried flax,

    At need, and made iful and fierce,

    Sudden and laughing.

    O unquiet ,

    her, praising her,

    As if tale but your oale

    ortting to a measure of s sound?

    bid you tell of t great queen

    housand years?

    its deepest, a wild goose

    Cried from ters lodge, and h long clamour

    Sheir hooks;

    But t on, as though some power

    h Druid heaviness;

    And wondering whe many-changing Sidhe

    imes to counsel her,

    Maeve  fall, being old,

    to t small cer gate.

    ter slept, alt upright

    itill and stony limbs and open eyes.

    Maeve ed, and w ear-piercing noise

    Broke from ed lips and broke again,

    Sher of his shoulders,

    And shook him wide awake, and bid him say

    he wandering many-changing ones

    roubled  all o say

    as t, the dogs

    More still th,

    hough he had dreamed

    nothing,

    he could remember when he had had fine dreams.

    It ime of t war

    Over te-he Brown Bull.

    Surned ao sleep

    t no god troubled now, and, wondering

    matters  among the Sidhe,

    Maeve  great h a sigh

    Lifted tain of her sleeping-room,

    Remembering t soo had seemed divine

    to many to her own

    One t tions ed

    t oo difficult for mortal hands

    Migain up

    Shere,

    And t of days  body,

    And of t famous Fergus, Nessas husband,

    he lover of her middle life.

    Suddenly Ailell spoke out of his sleep,

    And not h his own voice or a mans voice,

    But he burning, live, unshaken voice

    Of t, it may be, can never age.

    ;high Queen of Cruachan and Magh Ai,

    A king of t Plain h you.

    And ; king

    Of to me,

    As in they would come and go

    About my to counsel and to help?

    ted lips replied, quot;I seek your help,

    For I am Aengus, and I am crossed in love.

    quot;al

    h hand clasping hand,

    ty images t cannot her,

    For all tys like a hollow dream,

    Mirrored in streams t neither hail nor rain

    Nor troubled?

    he replied,

    quot;I am from those rivers and I bid you call

    t of sleep,

    And set them digging under Buals hill.

    e s hy housc,

    ill overthrow his shadows and carry off

    Caer, er t I love.

    I  these walls,

    And I would  need,

    Queen of high Cruachan.

    quot;I obey your will

    it and a most t:

    For you he birds,

    Our giver of good counsel and good luck.

    And al breath

    Could but awaken sadly upon lips

    t urned

    Face doossing in a troubled sleep;

    But Maeve, and not ,

    Came to ted house

    , and cried aloud,

    Until to stir

    iting and the clang of unhooked arms.

    Sold the many-changing ones;

    And all t nig day

    to middle nigo the hill.

    At middle nig cats h silver claws,

    Bodies of shadow and blind eyes like pearls,

    Came up out of the hole, and red-eared hounds

    ite bodies came out of the air

    Suddenly, and ran at them.

    t; cood

    its and terror-stricken faces,

    till Maeve called out, quot;t common men.

    t dropped their spades

    Because Earts broken power,

    Casts up a S

    it was glad,

    And whe grass

    S footfall in t,

    till it died out ood.

    Friend of too ood

    it w;

    For you, alt ,

    greatness, and not hers alone,

    For tory about queens

    In any ancient book but tells of you;

    And whey grew old and died,

    Or fell into unhappiness, Ive said,

    quot;S!

    And  out anehe words,

    , Soo !

    Outrun the measure.

    Id tell of t great queen

    ood amid a silence by thorn

    Until t of the air

    it of soft fire. the one,

    About wheir fiery wings,

    Said, quot;Aengus and  give thanks

    to Maeve and to Maeves household, owing all

    In o gives peace.

    t;O Aengus, Master of all lovers,

    A thousand years ago you held high ralk

    it kings of many-pillared Cruachan.

    O when will you grow weary?

    they had vanished,

    But our of there came

    A murmur of soft ing lips.