Has fallen on her face; The Light of Lights
Looks always on the motive, not the deed,
The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone.

(ALEEL releases the ANGEL and kneels.)

OONA. Tell them who walk upon the floor of peace
That I would die and go to her I love;
The years like great black oxen tread the world,
And God the herdsman goads them on behind,
And I am broken by their passing feet.

(A sound of far-off horns seems to come from the heart of the
Light. The vision melts away, and the forms of the kneeling
PEASANTS appear faintly in the darkness.)




NOTES

I found the story of the Countess Cathleen in what professed to
be a collection of Irish folk-lore in an Irish newspaper some
years ago. I wrote to the compiler, asking about its source,
but got no answer, but have since heard that it was translated
from Les Matin`ees de Timoth`e Trimm a good many years ago, and
has been drifting about the Irish press ever since. L`eo Lesp`es
gives it as an Irish story, and though the editor of Folklore has
kindly advertised for information, the only Christian variant I
know of is a Donegal tale, given by Mr. Larminie in his West