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The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Volume 2 of 8
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Let’s home and spend it in our villages.
AIBRIC
[Silencing them with a gesture.]
We would return to our own country, Forgael,
For we have found a treasure that’s so great
Imagination cannot reckon it.
And having lit upon this woman there,
What more have you to look for on the seas?
FORGAEL
I cannot – I am going on to the end.
As for this woman, I think she is coming with me.
AIBRIC
The ever-living have made you mad; but no,
It was this woman in her woman’s vengeance
That drove you to it, and I fool enough
To fancy that she’d bring you home again.
’Twas you that egged him to it, for you know
That he is being driven to his death.
DECTORA
That is not true, for he has promised me
An unimaginable happiness.
AIBRIC
And if that happiness be more than dreams,
More than the froth, the feather, the dustwhirl,
The crazy nothing that I think it is,
It shall be in the country of the dead,
If there be such a country.
DECTORA
No, not there,
But in some island where the life of the world
Leaps upward, as if all the streams o’ the world
Had run into one fountain.
AIBRIC
Speak to him.
He knows that he is taking you to death;
Speak – he will not deny it.
DECTORA
Is that true?
FORGAEL
I do not know for certain, but I know
That I have the best of pilots.
AIBRIC
Shadows, illusions,
That the shape-changers, the ever-laughing ones,
The immortal mockers have cast into his mind,
Or called before his eyes.
DECTORA
O carry me
To some sure country, some familiar place.
Have we not everything that life can give
In having one another?
FORGAEL
How could I rest
If I refused the messengers and pilots
With all those sights and all that crying out?
DECTORA
But I will cover up your eyes and ears,
That you may never hear the cry of the birds,
Or look upon them.
FORGAEL
Were they but lowlier
I’d do your will, but they are too high – too high.
DECTORA
Being too high, their heady prophecies
But harry us with hopes that come to nothing,
Because we are not proud, imperishable,
Alone and winged.
FORGAEL
AIBRIC
[Silencing them with a gesture.]
We would return to our own country, Forgael,
For we have found a treasure that’s so great
Imagination cannot reckon it.
And having lit upon this woman there,
What more have you to look for on the seas?
FORGAEL
I cannot – I am going on to the end.
As for this woman, I think she is coming with me.
AIBRIC
The ever-living have made you mad; but no,
It was this woman in her woman’s vengeance
That drove you to it, and I fool enough
To fancy that she’d bring you home again.
’Twas you that egged him to it, for you know
That he is being driven to his death.
DECTORA
That is not true, for he has promised me
An unimaginable happiness.
AIBRIC
And if that happiness be more than dreams,
More than the froth, the feather, the dustwhirl,
The crazy nothing that I think it is,
It shall be in the country of the dead,
If there be such a country.
DECTORA
No, not there,
But in some island where the life of the world
Leaps upward, as if all the streams o’ the world
Had run into one fountain.
AIBRIC
Speak to him.
He knows that he is taking you to death;
Speak – he will not deny it.
DECTORA
Is that true?
FORGAEL
I do not know for certain, but I know
That I have the best of pilots.
AIBRIC
Shadows, illusions,
That the shape-changers, the ever-laughing ones,
The immortal mockers have cast into his mind,
Or called before his eyes.
DECTORA
O carry me
To some sure country, some familiar place.
Have we not everything that life can give
In having one another?
FORGAEL
How could I rest
If I refused the messengers and pilots
With all those sights and all that crying out?
DECTORA
But I will cover up your eyes and ears,
That you may never hear the cry of the birds,
Or look upon them.
FORGAEL
Were they but lowlier
I’d do your will, but they are too high – too high.
DECTORA
Being too high, their heady prophecies
But harry us with hopes that come to nothing,
Because we are not proud, imperishable,
Alone and winged.
FORGAEL
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