ARGUMENt. Baile and Aillinn  Aengus, the

    Master of Love, wiso he happy in his own land

    among told to eacory of th, so

    t ts hey died.

    I he curlew cry,

    Nor the wind is high,

    Before my ts begin to run

    On the heir of Uladh, Buans son,

    Baile, wh;

    And t mild h,

    Aillinn, who was King Lugaidhs heir.

    their love was never drowned in care

    Of t thing, nor grew cold

    Because their hodies had grown old.

    Being forbid to marry on earth,

    to immortal mirth.

    About time w was born,

    e horn

    And t yet come,

    Young Baile h, whom some

    Called rattle-Land,

    Rode out of Emain h a band

    Of hey

    Imagined, as truck the way

    to many-pastured Muirthemne,

    t all t happily,

    And t fools had said,

    Baile and Aillinn would be wed.

    there:

    he had ragged long grass-coloured hair;

    stuck out of his hose;

    er in his shoes;

    o keep him dry,

    Although he had a squirrels eye.

    lt;1O wandering hirds and rushy beds,

    You put such folly in our heads

    ithe wind,

    No common love is to our mind,

    And our poor kate or Nan is less

    than any whose unhappiness

    Arings long ago.

    Yet t kno know

    t all this life can give us is

    A cer, a womans kiss.

    put so great a scorn

    In t night and morn

    Are trodden and broken he herds,

    And in t bodies of birds

    tumbles to and fro

    And pinc;1

    t runner said: quot;I am from th;

    I run to Baile h,

    to tell he girl Aillinn

    Rode from try of her kin,

    And old and young men rode h her:

    For all t country ir

    If anybody half as fair

    had chosen a husband anywhere

    But w could see her every day.

    tle way

    An old man caughe horses head

    it;quot;You must home again, and wed

    ith somebody in your own land.

    A young man cried and kissed her hand,

    quot;quot;O lady, h one of us;

    And weous

    For any gentle thing she spake,

    S-break.

    Because a lovers  s ,

    Being tumbled and blo

    By its own blind imagining,

    And  anything

    t is bad enougo be true, is true,

    Bailes  wo;

    And he, being laid upon green boughs,

    as carried to the goodly house

    before

    the brazen pillars of his door,

    o he end

    Of ter and her friend

    For athough years had passed away

    t day,

    For on t day trayed;

    And no h is laid

    Under a cairn of sleepy stone

    Before ears for none,

    Altone, but two

    For w heaped anew.

    lt;1e hold, because our memory is

    Sofull of t this,

    t out of sig of mind.

    But the wind

    And th crooked bill

    rave suc till

    Remember Deirdre and her man;

    And we or Nan

    About ter-side,

    Our s can Fear the voices chide.

    ent,

    Naoise ?

    And they have news of Deirdres eyes,

    ho being lovely was so wise -

    A knows well ;1

    No crafty one,

    Gat him, mn

    ing-maids,

    s and shades

    Dreamed of t would unlace

    their bodices in some dim place

    o triage-bed,

    And h high head

    As their music were enough

    to make t of love

    Grole  sorrowing,

    Imagining and pondering

    calamity;

    quot;Anothers hurried off, cried he,

    quot;From  and cold and wind and wave;

    tones above his grave

    In Muirt

    In cters  -

    Baile, t was of Rurys seed.

    But the gods long ago decreed

    No ing-maid should ever spread

    Baile and Aillinns marriage-bed,

    For they should clip and clip again

    Plain.

    t is but little news

    t put this hurry in my shoes.

    t he scarce had spoke

    Before  had broke.

    il he came

    to t he herdsmen name

    t of Laighen, because

    Some god or king he laws

    t ogethere,

    In old times among the air.

    t old man climbed; the day grew dim;

    to him,

    Linked by a gold co each,

    And h low murmuring laughing speech

    Alighe windy grass.

    they knew him: his changed body was

    tall, proud and ruddy, and light wings

    ere rings

    t Edain, Midhirs wife, had wove

    In the hid place, being crazed by love.

    s swim,

    Scale rubbing scale w is dim

    By a broad er-lily leaf;

    Or mice in ten sheaf

    Forgotten at threshing-place;

    Or birds lost in the one clear space

    Of morning light in a dim sky;

    Or, it may be, the eyelids of one eye,

    Or the door-pillars of one house,

    Or t blossoming apple-boughs

    t he ground;

    Or trings t made one sound

    wise harpers finger ran.

    For this young man

    an end,

    Because they have made so good a friend.

    they pass

    toes of Gorias,

    And Findrias and Falias,

    And long-forgotten Murias,

    Among t kings whose hoard,

    Cauldron and spear and stone and sword,

    as robbed before eart;

    andering from broken street to street

    tcher is,

    And tremble heir love and kiss.

    they

    ander whers away,

    troubles t streams

    But ligars, and gleams

    From there is none

    But fruit t is of precious stone,

    Or apples of the sun and moon.

    o t

    Quiets ;

    t

    On dappled skins in a glass boat,

    Far out under a windless sky;

    hem birds of Aengus fly,

    And over tiller and the prow,

    And o and fro

    A air

    to stir t and their hair.

    And poets found, old ers say,

    A yeree where his body lay;

    But a wild apple he grass

    its s blossom where hers was,

    And being in good , because

    A better time had come again

    After ths of many men,

    And t long fig the ford,

    te on tablets of thin board,

    Made of the yew,

    All tories t they knew.

    lt;1Let rus their fill

    Of ter if they will,

    Beloved, I am not afraid of her.

    S wiser nor lovelier,

    And you are more  than she,

    For all her wanderings over-sea;

    But Id

    t

    longed to wive

    Like t are no more alive.