Two plays for dancers — Reading Notes

And were not of our race, but when a man Is born in Ireland and of Irish stock When he takes part against us--

I will put you safe, No living man shall set his eyes upon you. I will not answer for the dead.

For certain days the stones where you must lie Have in the hour before the break of day Been haunted.

But I was not born at midnight.

Many a man born in the full daylight Can see them plain, will pass them on the high-road Or in the crowded market-place of the town, And never know that they have passed.

My Grandam Would have it they did penance everywhere Or lived through their old lives again.

In a dream; And some for an old scruple must hang spitted Upon the swaying tops of lofty trees; Some are consumed in fire, some withered up By hail and sleet out of the wintry North, And some but live through their old lives again.

Well, let them dream into what shape they please And fill waste mountains with the invisible tumult Of the fantastic conscience. I have no dread; They cannot put me into jail or shoot me, And seeing that their blood has returned to fields That have grown red from drinking blood like mine They would not if they could betray.

This pathway Runs to the ruined Abbey of Corcomroe; The Abbey passed, we are soon among the stone And shall be at the ridge before the cocks Of Aughanish or Bailevlehan Or grey Aughtmana shake their wings and cry.

(They go round the stage once)

(speaking) They've passed the shallow well and the flat stone Fouled by the drinking cattle, the narrow lane Where mourners for five centuries have carried Noble or peasant to his burial. An owl is crying out above their heads. (singing) Why should the heart take fright What sets it beating so? The bitter sweetness of the night Has made it but a lonely thing. Red bird of March, begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing, Red cock, and crow.

(They go once round the stage. The first musician speaks.)

And now they have climbed through the long grassy field And passed the ragged thorn trees and the gap In the ancient hedge; and the tomb-nested owl At the foot's level beats with a vague wing. (singing) My head is in a cloud; I'd let the whole world go. My rascal heart is proud Remembering and remembering. Red bird of March, begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing Red cock and crow.

(They go round the stage. The first musician speaks.)

They are among the stones above the ash Above the briar and thorn and the scarce grass; Hidden amid the shadow far below them The cat-headed bird is crying out. (singing) The dreaming bones cry out Because the night winds blow And heaven's a cloudy blot; Calamity can have its fling. Red bird of March begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing Red cock and crow.

We're almost at the summit and can rest. The road is a faint shadow there; and there The abbey lies amid its broken tombs. In the old days we should have heard a bell Calling the monks before day broke to pray; And when the day has broken on the ridge, The crowing of its cocks.

Is there no house Famous for sanctity or architectural beauty In Clare or Kerry, or in all wide Connacht The enemy has not unroofed?

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.

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?