She told them of the many-changing ones; And all that night, and all through the next day To middle night, they dug into the hill. At middle night great cats with silver claws, Bodies of shadow and blind eyes like pearls, Came up out of the hole, and red-eared hounds With long white bodies came out of the air Suddenly, and ran at them and harried them.
The Maines’ children dropped their spades, and stood With quaking joints and terror-strucken faces, Till Maeve called out: ‘These are but common men. The Maines’ children have not dropped their spades, Because Earth, crazy for its broken power, Casts up a show and the winds answer it With holy shadows.’ Her high heart was glad, And when the uproar ran along the grass She followed with light footfall in the midst, Till it died out where an old thorn tree stood.
Friend of these many years, you too had stood With equal courage in that whirling rout; For you, although you’ve not her wandering heart, Have all that greatness, and not hers alone. For there is no high story about queens In any ancient book but tells of you; And when I’ve heard how they grew old and died, Or fell into unhappiness, I’ve said: ‘She will grow old and die, and she has wept!’ And when I’d write it out anew, the words, Half crazy with the thought, She too has wept! Outrun the measure. I’d tell of that great queen Who stood amid a silence by the thorn Until two lovers came out of the air With bodies made out of soft fire. The one, About whose face birds wagged their fiery wings, Said: ‘Aengus and his sweetheart give their thanks To Maeve and to Maeve’s household, owing all In owing them the bride-bed that gives peace.’ Then Maeve: ‘O Aengus, Master of all lovers, A thousand years ago you held high talk With the first kings of many-pillared Cruachan. O when will you grow weary?’ They had vanished; But out of the dark air over her head there came A murmur of soft words and meeting lips.
_Argument._ Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the Master of Love, wishing them to be happy in his own land among the dead, told to each a story of the other’s death, so that their hearts were broken and they died.
_I hardly hear the curlew cry, Nor the grey rush when the wind is high, Before my thoughts begin to run On the heir of Ulad, Buan’s son, Baile, who had the honey mouth; And that mild woman of the south, Aillinn, who was King Lugaid’s heir. Their love was never drowned in care Of this or that thing, nor grew cold Because their bodies had grown old. Being forbid to marry on earth, They blossomed to immortal mirth._