The wind cried out and took the primroses.
And I gave milk and fire, and when she came
She made you hide the blessed crucifix;
She wears, too, the green jacket and red cap
Of the unholy creatures of the Raths.

FATHER HART.

You fear because of her wild, pretty prates;
She knows no better.
(_To the_ CHILD) Child, how old are you?

THE CHILD.

My own dear people live a long, long time,
So I am young; but measure by your years
And I am older than the eagle cock
Who blinks and blinks on Ballydawley Hill,
And he's the oldest thing under the moon.
At times I merely care to dance and dance--
At times grow wiser than the eagle cock.

FATHER HART.

What are you?

THE CHILD.

I am of the faery people.
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,