Delphi Complete Poetry and Plays of W. B. Yeats (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by W. B. Yeats

  tales he would starve.

  [He breaks away and goes out.

  WISE MAN

  The last hope is gone,

  And now that it’s too late I see it all,

  We perish into God and sink away

  Into reality--the rest’s a dream.

  [The Fool comes back.

  FOOL

  There was one there--there by the threshold stone, waiting there; and he

  said, ‘Go in, Teigue, and tell him everything that he asks you. He will

  give you a penny if you tell him.’

  WISE MAN

  I know enough, that know God’s will prevails.

  FOOL

  Waiting till the moment had come--That is what the one out there was

  saying, but I might tell you what you asked. That is what he was saying.

  WISE MAN

  Be silent. May God’s will prevail on the instant,

  Although His will be my eternal pain.

  I have no question:

  It is enough, I know what fixed the station

  Of star and cloud.

  And knowing all, I cry

  That what so God has willed

  On the instant be fulfilled,

  Though that be my damnation.

  The stream of the world has changed its course,

  And with the stream my thoughts have run

  Into some cloudy thunderous spring

  That is its mountain source--

  Aye, to some frenzy of the mind,

  For all that we have done’s undone,

  Our speculation but as the wind.

  [He dies.

  FOOL

  Wise man--Wise man, wake up and I will tell you everything for a penny.

  It is I, poor Teigue the Fool. Why don’t you wake up, and say, ‘There

  is a penny for you, Teigue’? No, no, you will say nothing. You and I,

  we are the two fools, we know everything, but we will not speak.

  [Angel enters holding a casket.

  O, look what has come from his mouth! O, look what has come from his

  mouth--the white butterfly! He is dead, and I have taken his soul in my

  hands; but I know why you open the lid of that golden box. I must give

  it to you. There then, (he puts butterfly in casket) he has gone

  through his pains, and you will open the lid in the Garden of Paradise.

  (He closes curtain and remains outside it.) He is gone, he is gone,

  he is gone, but come in, everybody in the world, and look at me.

  ‘I hear the wind a blow

  I hear the grass a grow,

  And all that I know, I know.’

  But I will not speak, I will run away.

  [He goes out.

  AT THE HAWK’S WELL

  PERSONS IN THE PLAY

  THREE MUSICIANS (their faces made up to resemble masks)

  THE GUARDIAN OF THE WELL (with face made up to resemble a mask)

  AN OLD MAN (wearing a mask)

  A YOUNG MAN (wearing a mask)

  TIME the Irish Heroic Age

  AT THE HAWK’S WELL

  The stage is any bare space before a wall against which stands a patterned screen. A drum and a gong and a zither have been laid close to screen before the play begins. If necessary, they can be carried in, after the audience is seated, by the FIRST MUSICIAN, who also can attend to the lights if there is any special lighting. We had two lanterns upon posts -- designed by Mr. Dulac-- the outer corners of the stage, but they did not give enough light, and we found it better to play by the light of a large chandelier. Indeed, I think, -- so far as my present experience that the most effec-tive lighting is the lighting we are most accustomed to in our rooms. These masked players seem stranger when there is no mechanical means of separating them from us. The FIRST MUSICIAN carries with him a folded black cloth and goes to the centre of the stage toward, the front and stand, motionless, the folded cloth hanging from between his hands. The two other MUSICIANS enter and, after standing a moment at either side of the stage, go towards him and slowly unfold the cloth, singing as they do so:

  I call to the eye of the mind

  A well long choked up and dry

  And boughs long stripped by the wind,

  And I call to the mind’s eye

  Pallor of an ivory face,

  Its lofty dissolute air,

  A man climbing up to a place

  The salt sea wind has swept bare.

  As they unfold the cloth, they go backward a little so that the stretched cloth and the wall make a triangle with the FIRST MUSICIAN at the apex supporting the centre of the cloth. On the black cloth is a gold pattern suggesting a hawk. The SECOND and THIRD MUSICIANS now slowly fold up the cloth again, pacing with a rhythmic movement of the arms towards the FIRST MUSICIAN and singing:

  What were his life soon done!

  Would he lose by that or win?

  A mother that saw her son

  Doubled over a speckled shin,

  Cross-grained with ninety years,

  Would cry, “How little worth

  Were all my hopes and fears

  And the hard pain of his birth!”

  The words “a speckled shin” are familiar to readers of Irish legendary stories in descriptions of old men bent double over the fire. While the cloth has been spread out, the GUARDIAN OF THE WELL has entered and is now crouching upon the ground. She is entirely covered by a black cloak; beside her lies a square blue cloth to represent a well. The three MUSICIANS have taken their places against the wall beside their instruments of music; they will accompany the movements of the players with gong or drum or zither.

  FIRST MUSICIAN (Singing)

  The boughs of the hazel shake,

  The sun goes down in the west.

  SECOND MUSICIAN (Singing)

  The heart would be always awake,

  The heart would turn to its rest.

  (They now go to one side of the stage rolling up the cloth)

  FIRST MUSICIAN (Speaking) Night falls;

  The mountainside grows dark;

  The withered leaves of the hazel

  Half choke the dry bed of the well;

  The guardian. of the well is sitting

  Upon the old grey stone at its side,

  Worn out from raking its dry bed,

  Worn out from gathering up the leaves.

  Her heavy eyes

  Know nothing, or but look upon stone.

  The wind that blows out of the sea.

  Turns over the heaped-up leaves to her side;

  They rustle and diminish.

  SECOND MUSICIAN I am afraid of this place.

  BOTH MUSICIANS (Singing)

  “Why should I sleep?” the heart cries,

  “For the wind, the salt wind, the sea wind,

  Is beating a cloud through the skies;

  I would wander always like the wind.”

  (An OLD MAN enters through the audience)

  FIRST MUSICIAN (Speaking) That old man climbs up hither,

  Who has been watching by his well

  These fifty years.

  He is all doubled up with age;

  The old thorn-trees, are doubled so

  Among the rocks where he is climbing.

  (The OLD MAN stands for a moment motionless by the side of the stage with bowed head. He lifts his head at the sound of a drumtap. He goes toward the front of the stage moving to the taps of the drum. He crouches and moves his hands as if making a fire. His movements, like those of the other persons of the play, suggest a marionette)

  FIRST MUSICIAN (Speaking) He has made a little heap of leaves;

  He lays the dry sticks on the leaves

  And, shivering with cold, he has taken up

  The fire-stick and socket from its hole.

  He whirls it round to get a flame;

  And now the dry sticks take the fire,

  And now the fire leaps up and shines

  Upon the h
azels and the empty well.

  MUSICIANS (Singing)

  “O wind, 0 salt wind, 0 sea wind”‘

  Cries the heart, “it is time to sleep;

  Why wander and nothing to find?

  Better grow old and sleep.”

  OLD MAN (Speaking) Why don’t you speak to me?

  Why don’t you say:

  “Are you not weary gathering those sticks?

  Are not your fingers cold?” You have not one word,

  While yesterday you spoke three times. You said:

  “The well is full of hazel leaves.” You said:

  “The wind is from the west.” And after that:

  “If there is rain it’s likely there’ll be mud.”

  To-day you are as stupid as a fish,

  No, worse, worse, being less lively and as dumb.

  (He goes near,)

  Your eyes Ere dazed and heavy. If the Sidhe

  [Note: The Sidhe are an ancient divine race (pronounced “She”) that had once possessed Ireland. Conquered by other gods, they be-came invisible and made their home in the hills and countryside.]

  Must have a guardian to clean out the well

  And drive the cattle off, they might choose somebody

  That can be pleasant and companionable

  Once in the day. Why do you stare like that?

  You had that glassy look about the eyes

  Last time it happened. Do you know anything?

  It is enough to drive an old man crazy

  To look all day upon these broken rocks,

  And ragged thorns, and that one stupid face,

  And speak and get no answer.

  YOUNG MAN (Who has, entered through the audience during the last speech)

  Then speak to me,

  For youth is not more patient than old age;

  And though I have trod the rocks for half a day

  I cannot find what I am looking for.

  OLD MAN Who speaks?

  Who comes, so suddenly into this place

  Where nothing thrives? If I may judge by the gold

  0n head and feet and glittering in your coat,

  You are not of those who hate the living world.

  YOUNG MAN I am named Cuchulain, I am Sualtim’s son.

  [Note: The warrior Sualtim, a vague and shadowy figure of Irish myth, was held to be Cuhulin’s mortal father. Cuchulain claimed supernatural descent as the son of Lugh, the Sun -God.

  OLD MAN I have never heard that name.

  YOUNG MAN It is not unknown.

  I have an ancient house beyond the sea.

  OLD MAN What mischief brings you hither?

  You are like those

  Who are crazy for the shedding of men’s blood,

  And for the love of women.

  YOUNG MAN A rumour has led me,

  A story told over the wine towards dawn.

  I rose from table, found a boat, spread sail,

  And with a lucky wind under the sail

  Crossed waves that have seemed charmed, and found this shore.

  OLD MAN There is no house to sack among these hills Nor beautiful woman to be carried off.

  YOUNG MAN You should be native here, for that rough tongue

  Matches the barbarous spot. You can, it may be,

  Lead me to what I seek, a well wherein

  Three hazels drop their nuts and withered leaves,

  And where a solitary girl keeps watch

  Among grey boulders. He who drinks, they say,

  Of that miraculous water lives for ever.

  OLD MAN And are there not before your eyes at the instant

  Grey boulders and a solitary girl And three stripped hazels?

  YOUNG MAN But there is no well.

  OLD MAN Can you see nothing yonder?

  YOUNG MAN I but see

  A hollow among stones half-full of leaves.

  OLD MAN And do you think so great a gift is found

  By no more toil than spreading out a sail,

  And climbing a steep hill? 0, folly of youth,

  Why should that hollow place fill up for you,

  That will not fill for me? I have lain in wait

  For more than fifty years, to find it empty,

  Or but to find the stupid wind of the sea

  Drive round the perishable leaves.

  YOUNG MAN So it seems

  There is some moment when the water fills it.

  OLD MAN

  A secret moment that the holy shades

  That dance upon the desolate mountain know,

  And not a living man, and when it comes

  The water has scarce plashed before it is gone.

  YOUNG MAN I will stand here and wait. Why should the luck

  Of Sualtim’s son desert him now? For ever

  Have I had long to wait for anything.

  OLD MAN No! Go from this accursed place! This place

  Belongs to me, that girl there, and those others,

  Deceivers of men.

  YOUNG MAN And who are you who rail

  Upon those dancers that all others bless?

  OLD MAN One whom the dancers cheat. I came like you

  When young in body and in mind, and blown

  By what had seemed to me a lucky sail.

  The well was dry, I sat upon its edge,

  I waited the miraculous flood, I waited

  While the years passed and withered me away.

  I have snared the birds for food and eaten grass

  And drunk the rain, and neither in dark nor shine

  Wandered too far away to have heard the plash,

  And yet the dancers have deceived me. Thrice

  I have awakened from a sudden sleep

  To find the stones were wet.

  YOUNG MAN My luck is strong,

  It will not leave me waiting, nor will they

  That dance among the stones put me asleep;

  If I grow drowsy I can pierce my foot.

  OLD MAN No, do not pierce it, for the foot is tender,

  It feels pain much. But find your sail again

  And leave the well to me, for it belongs

  To all that’s old and withered.

  YOUNG MAN No, I stay.

  (The GUARDIAN OF THE WELL gives the cry of the hawk)

  There is that bird again.

  OLD MAN There is no bird.

  YOUNG MAN It sounded like the sudden cry of a hawk,

  But there’s no wing in sight. As I came hither

  A great grey hawk swept down out of the sky,

  And though I have good hawks, the best in the world

  I had fancied, I have not seen its like. It flew

  As though it would have torn me with its beak,

  Or blinded me, smiting with that great wing.

  I had to draw my sword to drive it off,

  And after that it flew from rock to rock.

  I pelted it with stones, a good half-hour,

  And just before I had turned the big rock there

  And seen this place, it seemed to vanish away.

  Could I but find a means to bring it down

  I’d hood it.

  OLD MAN The Woman of the Sidhe herself,

  The mountain witch, the unappeasable shadow.

  She is always flitting upon this mountain-side,

  To allure or to destroy. When she has shown

  Herself to the fierce women of the hills

  Under that shape they offer sacrifice

  And arm for battle. There falls a curse

  On all who have gazed in her unmoistened eyes;

  So get you gone while you have that proud step

  And confident voice, for not a man alive

  Has so much luck that he can play with it.

  Those that have long to live should fear her most,

  The old are cursed already. That curse may be

  Never to win a woman’s love and keep it;

  Or always to mix hatred in the love;

  Or
it may be that she will kill your children,

  That you will find them, their throats torn and bloody,

  Or you will be so maddened that you kill them

  With your own hand.

  YOUNG MAN Have you been set down there

  To threaten all who come, and scare them off?

  You seem as dried up as the leaves and sticks,

  As though you had no part in life.

  (The GUARDIAN OF THE WELL gives hawk cry again.) That cry!

  There is that cry again. That woman made it,

  But why does she cry out as the hawk cries?

  OLD MAN It was her mouth, and yet not she, that cried.

  It was that shadow cried behind her mouth;

  And now I know why she has been so stupid

  All the day through, and had such heavy eyes.

  Look at her shivering now, the terrible life

  Is slipping through her veins. She is possessed.

  Who knows whom she will murder or betray

  Before she awakes in ignorance of it all,

  And gathers up the leaves? But they’ll be wet;

  The water will have come and gone again;

  That shivering is the sign. O, get you gone,

  At any moment now I shall hear it bubble.

  If you are good you will leave it. I am old,

  And if I do not drink it now, will ever;

  I have been watching all my life and maybe

  Only a little cupful will bubble up.

  YOUNG MAN I’ll take it in my hands. We shall both drink,

  And even if there are but a few drops, Share them.

  OLD MAN But swear that I may drink the first;

  The young are greedy, and if you drink the first

  You’ll drink it all. Ah, you have looked at her;

  She has felt your gaze and turned her eyes on us;

  I cannot bear her eyes, they are not of this world,