William Yeats - The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Volume 3 of 8. The Countess Cathleen. The Land of Heart's Desire. The Unicorn from the Stars

Obey! I make a sign upon your hearts.

The sign of evil burns upon our hearts,
And we obey.

And now begone – begone! [ They go.
I bid them go, for, being garrulous
And flighty creatures, they had soon begun
To deafen us with their sea-gossip. Now
We must go bring more money. Brother, brother,
I long to see my master’s face again,
For I turn homesick.

I too tire of toil.

How may we gain this woman for our lord?
This pearl, this turquoise fastened in his crown
Would make it shine like His we dare not name.
Now that the winds are heavy with our kind,
Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit
Before the mob of angels were astir?

Who tore the bag?

The finger of Priest John
When he fled through the leather. I had thought
Because his was an old and little spirit
The tear would hardly matter.

This comes, brother,
Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours.
If we would win this turquoise for our lord,
It must go dropping down of its freewill.
She will have heard the noise. She will stifle us
With holy names.

No, she has fallen asleep.

The noise wakened the household. While you spoke
I heard chairs moved, and heard folk’s shuffling feet.
And now they are coming hither.

It was here.

No, further away.

It was in the western tower.

Come quickly; we will search the western tower.

We still have time – they search the distant rooms.
Call hither the fading and the unfading fires.

There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence —
Unwilling labourers.

I will draw them in.

Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died
In drunken sleep, and by each other’s hands
When they had bartered you – come hither all
Who mourn among the scenery of your sins,
Turning to animal and reptile forms,
The visages of passions; hither, hither —
Leave marshes and the reed-encumbered pools,
You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men,
And are a fading wretchedness.

They come not.

Come hither, hither, hither.

I can hear
A crying as of storm-distempered reeds.
The fading and the unfading fires rise up
Like steam out of the earth; the grass and leaves
Shiver and shrink away and sway about,
Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air.

They are one with all the beings of decay,
Ill longings, madness, lightning, famine, drouth.

Come you – and you – and you, and lift these bags.

We are too violent; mere shapes of storm.

Come you – and you – and you, and lift these bags.

We are too feeble, fading out of life.

Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,
And still wear human shape: the shape of power.

Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.

Yes, yes!
Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart. At moments, now and then,
When plunged in horror, brooding each alone,
A memory of her face floats in on us.
It brings a crowned misery, half repose,
And we wail one to other; we obey,
For heaven’s many-angled star reversed,
Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts.

When these pale sapphires and these diadems
And these small bags of money are in our house,
The burning shall give over – now begone.

No – no – no. I will carry the diadem.

No, brother, not yet.
For none can carry her treasures wholly away
But spirits that are too light for good and evil,
Or, being evil, can remember good.
Begone! [ The spirits vanish. ] I bade them go, for they are lonely,
And when they see aught living love to sigh.
[ Pointing to the oratory. ] Brother, I heard a sound in there – a sound
That troubles me.

Upon the altar steps
The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep
A broken Paternoster .

She is grown still.

A great plan floats into my mind – no wonder,
For I come from the ninth and mightiest Hell,
Where all are kings. I will wake her from her sleep,
And mix with all her thoughts a thought to serve.

May we be well remembered in your prayers!

What would you, sirs?

We are two merchant men,
New come from foreign lands. We bring you news.
Forgive our sudden entry: the great door
Was open, we came in to seek a face.