(The Boy straightens up, his eyes gleam with excitement at this.)
Boy (Echoing).—In the great fights?
Blind Singer.—In great fights, and in the great halls, with strong men and beautiful women with many-folded shining garments upon them, where there was feasting, and great story-telling—and I,—I telling and singing for them all—(He pauses, looking off as if he saw visions of his memories.
Boy.—It must be around the world you have gone, to be story-telling and singing in such grand places! It must be a great man you are after all,—and it is a wonder you would be wandering and looking for food!
Blind Singer (Scowling).—Why would a man go around the world the time there would be fine places in all Ireland to go to and noble people listening to his songs? (Pauses, then sadly.) How is one a great man indeed, when trouble is upon him and he wandering and wanting food where there is none to satisfy him? (His head sinks on his breast in the folds of his great cloak.)
(Unseen by either of them, an old woman with a dark cloak over her head and shoulders has entered back of the shrubbery from L U E and is crouching down by the Well weaving her body to and fro as if in distress.)
Boy.—How is it you went out of Ireland for a great time at all, and it such a grand place for you? Since it is only a poor boy I am I never went to such grand places around here.
Blind Singer.—Indeed you would walk far and long from this place and this day to see such places as I saw and I a strong youth then, with good sight, and singing and fighting! (Again he loses himself in his visions—Then sternly, and frowning—) Out of Ireland for a great time it was I went at last, on account of there being those that put a ban upon me and would not be listening to my songs at all!
Boy.—Why would they turn upon you, and they listening to you so long!
Blind Singer.—Indeed it was not those that had been used to listening to me that turned upon me. No kinsmen to the men of Ireland they were that came upon our shores! The harps of the singers they broke and the mouths of the story-tellers they closed so there would be darkness over the Wisdom of Ireland and sorrow upon the hearts of her people! (He bows his head. Then in a moment throws it back, lifting his forehead.) But after all the wounds and distresses upon her, the soul of Ireland blooms like a dark rose out of the red blood upon her heart!
