ACT III
A grassy place in the clachan. In the middle an altar with peats and some sacrifice burning. Around it the people are standing. They sing.
Song
Cry for the gods returning,
Cry for the saints that go,
Cry for the altars burning,
And the beacon lights burnt low.
Now in the hills above us
The masters of joy and pain,
Our loves that will not love us,
The gods are come again.
Cry for the saints that go,
Cry for the altars burning,
And the beacon lights burnt low.
Now in the hills above us
The masters of joy and pain,
Our loves that will not love us,
The gods are come again.
Cry for the day of slaughter,
Cry for the happy dead,
The dooms of men and the water
Over the drowning head.
Cry for the lightnings gleaming,
And the thunder answering,
The things that we longed for dreaming,
And the songs we could not sing.
Cry for the happy dead,
The dooms of men and the water
Over the drowning head.
Cry for the lightnings gleaming,
And the thunder answering,
The things that we longed for dreaming,
And the songs we could not sing.
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