I have wisdom To guide the starry flocks. Through
him those who had only Blind strength have grown crafty to conspire Even against the
gods.
Then Armid came And with her came the master of
many arts. To have No hope but that the darkness owns.
Out of his wider vision spake the king Of that
abysmal life that underlay The Happy Plains.
Did I but play the part His magic plotted for
me?
COMFORT The skies were dim and vast and deep Above
the vale of rest. SomeHave found the glittering gates to open.
She heard a voice that seemed soundless, that spoke
To the spirit ear. And at this the king Spoke more disdainfully.
And Angus said, My birds shall waken
love.
And I shall be the vanishing of pain, Said
Diancecht.
Ogma, The might of heaven is Mine to
give.
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particularpaper edition. His eyes with longing no more search the mystic
sea.
I shall Go mad unless you speak and tell me
all.
Tell the high king a champion Out of the Land of
Promise comes to him. Then the wonder goes from the stones, The lake and the shadowy
wood.
The master of many arts was heard no
more.
By what fleet witchery of limb the inaudible
Becomes music to the eye, joy in the heart!
Now upon brute imaginings she casts Her
glamour.
To have No hope but that the darkness owns. I fall
on knees watching the laughing king Hide stars in wild blossoms.
The grave, Even of love, heart-lost, was drowned
Under times brimming wave.