ARGUMENt. Baile and Aillinn    Aengus, the

        Master of Love, wiso he happy in his own land

        among told to eacory of th, so

        t ts hey died.

        I he curlew cry,

        Nor the wind is high,

        Before my ts begin to run

        On the heir of Uladh, Buans son,

        Baile, wh;

        And t mild h,

        Aillinn, who was King Lugaidhs heir.

        their love was never drowned in care

        Of t thing, nrew cold

        Because their hodies had grown old.

        Being forbid to marry oh,

        to immortal mirth.

        About time w was born,

        e horn

        And t yet e,

        Young Baile h, whom some

        Called rattle-Land,

        Rode out of Emain h a band

        Of hey

        Imagined, as truck the way

        to many-pastured Muirthemne,

        t all t happily,

        And t fools had said,

        Baile and Aillinn would be wed.

        there:

        he had ragged long grass-coloured hair;

        stuck out of his hose;

        er in his shoes;

        o keep him dry,

        Although he had a squirrels eye.

        <1O wandering hirds and rushy beds,

        You put such folly in our heads

        ithe wind,

        No on love is to our mind,

        And our poor kate or Nan is less

        than any whose unhappiness

        Arings long ago.

        Yet t kno know

        t all this life    give us is

        A cer, a womans kiss.

        put so great a s

        In t night and morn

        Are trodden and broken he herds,

        And in t bodies of birds

        tumbles to and fro

        And pinc;1

        t runner said: "I am from th;

        I run to Baile h,

        to tell he girl Aillinn

        Rode from try of her kin,

        And old and young men rode h her:

        For all t try ir

        If anybody half as fair

        had chosen a husband anywhere

        But w could see her every day.

        tle way

        An old man caughe horses head

        it;"You must home again, and wed

        ith somebody in your own land.

        A young man cried and kissed her hand,

        ""O lady, h one of us;

        And weous

        For ale thing she spake,

        S-break.

        Because a lovers    s ,

        Being tumbled and blo

        By its own blind imagining,

        And    anything

        t is bad enougo be true, is true,

        Bailes    wo;

        And he, being laid upon green boughs,

        as carried to the goodly house

        before

        the brazen pillars of his door,

        o he end

        Of ter and her friend

        For athough years had passed away

        t day,

        For on t day trayed;

        And no h is laid

        Under a    of sleepy stone

        Before ears for none,

        Altone, but two

        For ed anew.

        <1e hold, because our memory is

        Sofull of t this,

        t out of sig of mind.

        But the wind

        And th crooked bill

        rave suc till

        Remember Deirdre and her man;

        And we or Nan

        About ter-side,

        Our s    Fear the voices chide.

        ent,

        Naoise ?

        And they have news of Deirdres eyes,

        ho being lovely was so wise -

        A knows well ;1

        No crafty one,

        Gat him, mn

        ing-maids,

        s and shades

        Dreamed of t would unlace

        their bodices in some dim place

        e-bed,

        And h high head

        As their music were enough

        to make t of love

        Grole    sorrowing,

        Imagining and p

        calamity;

        "Anothers hurried off, cried he,

        "From    and cold and wind and wave;

        tones above his grave

        In Muirt

        In cters    -

        Baile, t was of Rurys seed.

        But the gods long ago decreed

        No ing-maid should ever spread

        Baile and Aillinns marriage-bed,

        For they should clip and clip again

        Plain.

        t is but little news

        t put this hurry in my shoes.

        t he scarce had spoke

        Before    had broke.

        il he came

        to t he herdsmen name

        t of Laighen, because

        Some god or king he laws

        t ogethere,

        In old times among the air.

        t old man climbed; the day grew dim;

        to him,

        Linked by a gold co each,

        And h low murmuring laughing speech

        Alighe windy grass.

        they knew him: his ged body was

        tall, proud and ruddy, and light wings

        ere rings

        t Edain, Midhirs wife, had wove

        In the hid place, being crazed by love.

        s swim,

        Scale rubbing scale w is dim

        By a broad er-lily leaf;

        Or mi ten sheaf

        Fotten at threshing-place;

        Or birds lost in the one clear space

        Of m light in a dim sky;

        Or, it may be, the eyelids of one eye,

        Or the door-pillars of one house,

        Or t blossoming apple-boughs

        t he ground;

        s t made one sound

        wise harpers finger ran.

        For this young man

        an end,

        Because they have made so good a friend.

        they pass

        toes of Gorias,

        And Findrias and Falias,

        And long-fotten Murias,

        Among t kings whose hoard,

        Cauldron and spear and stone and sword,

        as robbed before eart;

        andering from broken street to street

        tcher is,

        And tremble heir love and kiss.

        they

        ander whers away,

        troubles t streams

        But ligars, and gleams

        From there is none

        But fruit t is of precious stone,

        Or apples of the sun and moon.

        o t

        Quiets ;

        t

        On dappled skins in a glass boat,

        Far out under a windless sky;

        hem birds of Aengus fly,

        And over tiller and the prow,

        And o and fro

        A air

        to stir t and their hair.

        And poets found, old ers say,

        A yeree where his body lay;

        But a wild apple he grass

        its s blossom where hers was,

        And being in good , because

        A better time had e again

        After ths of many men,

        And t long fig the ford,

        te on tablets of thin board,

        Made of the yew,

        All tories t they knew.

        <1Let rus their fill

        Of ter if they will,

        Beloved, I am not afraid of her.

        S wiser nor lovelier,

        And you are more    than she,

        For all her wanderings over-sea;

        But Id

        t

        loo wive

        Like t are no more alive.
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