The stage is any bare place in a room close to the wall.  A screen with a pattern of mountain and sky can stand against the wall, or a curtain with a like pattern hang upon it, but the pattern must only symbolize or suggest.  One musician enters and then two others, the first stands singing while the others take their places.  Then all three sit down against the wall by their instruments, which are already there ­a drum, a zither, and a flute.  Or they unfold a cloth as in ‘The Hawk’s Well,’ while the instruments are carried in.

First musician-

            (or all three musicians, singing)
  Why does my heart beat so? 
  Did not a shadow pass? 
  It passed but a moment ago. 
  Who can have trod in the grass? 
  What rogue is night-wandering? 
  Have not old writers said
  That dizzy dreams can spring
  From the dry bones of the dead? 
  And many a night it seems
  That all the valley fills
  With those fantastic dreams. 
  They overflow the hills,
  So passionate is a shade,
  Like wine that fills to the top
  A grey-green cup of jade,
  Or maybe an agate cup.
  (speaking) The hour before dawn and the moon covered up. 
  The little village of Abbey is covered up;
  The little narrow trodden way that runs
  From the white road to the Abbey of Corcomroe
  Is covered up; and all about the hills
  Are like a circle of Agate or of Jade. 
  Somewhere among great rocks on the scarce grass
  Birds cry, they cry their loneliness. 
  Even the sunlight can be lonely here,
  Even hot noon is lonely.  I hear a footfall ­
  A young man with a lantern comes this way. 
  He seems an Aran fisher, for he wears
  The flannel bawneen and the cow-hide shoe. 
  He stumbles wearily, and stumbling prays.

  (A young man enters, praying in Irish)

  Once more the birds cry in their loneliness,
  But now they wheel about our heads; and now
  They have dropped on the grey stone to the north-east.

  (A man and a girl both in the costume of a past time, come in.  They
  wear heroic masks)

Young man-

(raising his lantern)
Who is there?  I cannot see what you are like,
Come to the light.

Stranger-

But what have you to fear?

Young man-

And why have you come creeping through the dark.

(The Girl blows out lantern)

The wind has blown my lantern out.  Where are you? 
I saw a pair of heads against the sky
And lost them after, but you are in the right
I should not be afraid in County Clare;
And should be or should not be have no choice,
I have to put myself into your hands,
Now that my candle’s out.

Stranger-

You have fought in Dublin?

Young man-

I was in the Post Office, and if taken
I shall be put against a wall and shot.

Stranger-

You know some place of refuge, have some plan
Or friend who will come to meet you?

Young man-

                                  I am to lie
  At daybreak on the mountain and keep watch
  Until an Aran coracle puts in
  At Muckanish or at the rocky shore
  Under Finvarra, but would break my neck
  If I went stumbling there alone in the dark.

Stranger-

We know the pathways that the sheep tread out,
And all the hiding-places of the hills,
And that they had better hiding-places once.

Young man-

You’d say they had better before English robbers
Cut down the trees or set them upon fire
For fear their owners might find shelter there. 
What is that sound?

Stranger-

                     An old horse gone astray
  He has been wandering on the road all night.

Young man-

I took him for a man and horse.  Police
Are out upon the roads.  In the late Rising
I think there was no man of us but hated
To fire at soldiers who but did their duty
And were not of our race, but when a man
Is born in Ireland and of Irish stock
When he takes part against us ­

Stranger-

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

Young man-

The dead?

Stranger-

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

Young man-

But I was not born at midnight.

Stranger-

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.

Young man-

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

Stranger-
                                  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.

Young man-

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.

Stranger-
                                 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)

First musician-

(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.

The Stranger-

  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.

Young man-

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

Stranger-

  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.

Young man-

  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?

The girl-

  They have not that luck,
  But are more lonely, those that are buried there,
  Warred in the heat of the blood; if they were rebels
  Some momentary impulse made them rebels
  Or the comandment of some petty king
  Who hated Thomond.  Being but common sinners,
  No callers in of the alien from oversea
  They and their enemies of Thomond’s party
  Mix in a brief dream battle above their bones,
  Or make one drove or drift in amity,
  Or in the hurry of the heavenly round
  Forget their earthly names; these are alone
  Being accursed.

Young man-

   And if what seems is true
  And there are more upon the other side
  Than on this side of death, many a ghost
  Must meet them face to face and pass the word
  Even upon this grey and desolate hill.

Young girl-

  Until this hour no ghost or living man
  Has spoken though seven centuries have run
  Since they, weary of life and of men’s eyes,
  Flung down their bones in some forgotten place
  Being accursed.

Young man-

  I have heard that there are souls
  Who, having sinned after a monstrous fashion
  Take on them, being dead, a monstrous image
  To drive the living, should they meet its face,
  Crazy, and be a terror to the dead.

Young girl-

  But these
  Were comely even in their middle life
  And carry, now that they are dead, the image
  Of their first youth, for it was in that youth
  Their sin began.

Young man-

  I have heard of angry ghosts
  Who wander in a wilful solitude.

The girl-

These have no thought but love; nor joy
But that upon the instant when their penance
Draws to its height and when two hearts are wrung
Nearest to breaking, if hearts of shadows break,
His eyes can mix with hers; nor any pang
That is so bitter as that double glance,
Being accursed.

Young man-

           But what is this strange penance ­
  That when their eyes have met can wring them most?

The girl-

Though eyes can meet, their lips can never meet.

Young man-

And yet it seems they wander side by side. 
But doubtless you would say that when lips meet
And have not living nerves, it is no meeting.

The girl-

  Although they have no blood or living nerves
  Who once lay warm and live the live-long night
  In one another’s arms, and know their part
  In life, being now but of the people of dreams,
  Is a dreams part; although they are but shadows
  Hovering between a thorn tree and a stone
  Who have heaped up night on winged night; although
  No shade however harried and consumed
  Would change his own calamity for theirs,
  Their manner of life were blessed could their lips
  A moment meet; but when he has bent his head
  Close to her head or hand would slip in hand
  The memory of their crime flows up between
  And drives them apart.

Young man-

  The memory of a crime ­
  He took her from a husband’s house it may be,
  But does the penance for a passionate sin
  Last for so many centuries?

The girl-

   No, no,
  The man she chose, the man she was chosen by
  Cared little and cares little from whose house
  They fled towards dawn amid the flights of arrows
  Or that it was a husband’s and a king’s;
  And how if that were all could she lack friends
  On crowded roads or on the unpeopled hill? 
  Helen herself had opened wide the door
  Where night by night she dreams herself awake
  And gathers to her breast a dreaming man.

Young man-

  What crime can stay so in the memory? 
  What crime can keep apart the lips of lovers
  Wandering and alone?

The girl-

   Her king and lover
  Was overthrown in battle by her husband
  And for her sake and for his own, being blind
  And bitter and bitterly in love, he brought
  A foreign army from across the sea.

Young man-

  You speak of Dermot and of Dervorgilla
  Who brought the Norman in?

The girl-

  Yes, yes I spoke
  Of that most miserable, most accursed pair
  Who sold their country into slavery, and yet
  They were not wholly miserable and accursed
  If somebody of their race at last would say: 
  ‘I have forgiven them.’

Young man-

  Oh, never, never
  Will Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven.

The girl-

  If someone of their race forgave at last
  Lip would be pressed on lip.

Young man-

  Oh, never, never
  Will Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven. 
  You have told your story well, so well indeed
  I could not help but fall into the mood
  And for a while believe that it was true
  Or half believe, but better push on now. 
  The horizon to the East is growing bright.

  (They go once round stage)

  So here we’re on the summit.  I can see
  The Aran Islands, Connemara Hills,
  And Galway in the breaking light; there too
  The enemy has toppled wall and roof
  And torn from ancient walls to boil his pot
  The oaken panelling that had been dear
  To generations of children and old men. 
  But for that pair for whom you would have my pardon
  It might be now like Bayeux or like Caen
  Or little Italian town amid its walls
  For though we have neither coal nor iron ore
  To make us rich and cover heaven with smoke
  Our country, if that crime were uncommitted
  Had been most beautiful.  Why do you dance? 
  Why do you gaze and with so passionate eyes
  One on the other and then turn away
  Covering your eyes and weave it in a dance,
  Who are you? what are you? you are not natural.

The girl-

  Seven hundred years our lips have never met.

Young man-

  Why do you look so strangely at one another,
  So strangely and so sweetly?

The girl-

Seven hundred years.

Young man-

  So strangely and so sweetly.  All the ruin,
  All, all their handiwork is blown away
  As though the mountain air had blown it away
  Because their eyes have met.  They cannot hear,
  Being folded up and hidden in their dance. 
  The dance is changing now.  They have dropped their eyes,
  They have covered up their eyes as though their hearts
  Had suddenly been broken ­never, never
  Shall Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven. 
  They have drifted in the dance from rock to rock. 
  They have raised their hands as though to snatch the sleep
  That lingers always in the abyss of the sky
  Though they can never reach it.  A cloud floats up
  And covers all the mountain head in a moment. 
  And now it lifts and they are swept away. 
  I had almost yielded and forgiven it all ­
  This is indeed a place of terrible temptation.

(The Musicians begin unfolding and folding a black cloth.  The First Musician comes forward to the front of the stage, at the centre.  He holds the cloth before him.  The other two come one on either side and unfold it.  They afterwards fold it up in the same way.  While it is unfolded, the Young Man leaves the stage.)

The musicians-

I-

(singing) At the grey round of the hill Music of a lost kingdom Runs, runs and is suddenly still.  The winds out of Clare-Galway Carry it:  suddenly it is still.

  I have heard in the night air
  A wandering airy music;
  And moidered in that snare
  A man is lost of a sudden,
  In that sweet wandering snare.

  What finger first began
  Music of a lost kingdom. 
  They dreamed that laughed in the sun. 
  Dry bones that dream are bitter,
  They dream and darken our sun.

  Those crazy fingers play
  A wandering airy music;
  Our luck is withered away,
  And wheat in the wheat-ear withered,
  And the wind blows it away.

II-

  My heart ran wild when it heard
  The curlew cry before dawn
  And the eddying cat-headed bird;
  But now the night is gone. 
  I have heard from far below
  The strong March birds a-crow,
  Stretch neck and clap the wing,
  Red cocks, and crow.