Such tales are full of
a strange light that seems to be, at one and the same time, the Celtic
glamour and the Light of the World.
All the lovers of Mr. Yeats must have remembered many instances of the
same kind in his work. "And are there not moods which need heaven, hell,
purgatory, and faeryland for their expression, no less than this
dilapidated earth? Nay, are there not moods which shall find no
expression unless there be men who dare to mix heaven, hell, purgatory,
and faeryland together, or even to set the heads of beasts to the bodies
of men, or to thrust the souls of men into the heart of rocks? Let us go
forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart longs
for, and have no fear."
Mr. Yeats is continually identifying these apparently unrelated things;
and youth and peace, faith and beauty, are ever meeting in converging
lines in his work. No song of his has a livelier lilt than the _Fiddler
of Dooney_.
"I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate.
Pages:
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143