The Dreaming of the Bones, by W.B.Yeats.

TWO PLAYS FOR DANCERS

PREFACE

In a note at the end of my last book 'The Wild Swans at Coole' (Cuala Press.) I explained why I preferred this kind of drama, and where I had found my models, and where and how my first play after this kind was performed, and when and how I would have it performed in the future. I can but refer the reader to the note or to the long introduction to 'Certain Noble Plays of Japan' (Cuala Press.)

W. B. Yeats. October 11th. 1918

P. S. That I might write 'The Dreaming of the Bones,' Mr. W. A. Henderson with great kindness wrote out for me all historical allusions to Dervorgilla.

---

[Pg 1]

THE DREAMING OF THE BONES

The stage is any bare place in a room close to the wall. A screen with a pattern of mountain and sky can stand against the wall, or a curtain with a like pattern hang upon it, but the pattern must only symbolize or suggest. One musician enters and then two others, the first stands singing while the others take their places. Then all three sit down against the wall by their instruments, which are already there—a drum, a zither, and a flute. Or they unfold a cloth as in 'The Hawk's Well,' while the instruments are carried in.

FIRST MUSICIAN

(or all three musicians, singing)Why does my heart beat so?Did not a shadow pass?It passed but a moment ago.Who can have trod in the grass?What rogue is night-wandering?Have not old writers saidThat dizzy dreams can springFrom the dry bones of the dead?And many a night it seemsThat all the valley fillsWith those fantastic dreams.They overflow the hills,So passionate is a shade,[Pg 2]Like wine that fills to the topA grey-green cup of jade,Or maybe an agate cup.(speaking) The hour before dawn and the moon covered up.The little village of Abbey is covered up;The little narrow trodden way that runsFrom the white road to the Abbey of CorcomroeIs covered up; and all about the hillsAre like a circle of Agate or of Jade.Somewhere among great rocks on the scarce grassBirds cry, they cry their loneliness.Even the sunlight can be lonely here,Even hot noon is lonely. I hear a footfall—A young man with a lantern comes this way.He seems an Aran fisher, for he wearsThe flannel bawneen and the cow-hide shoe.He stumbles wearily, and stumbling prays.

(A young man enters, praying in Irish)

Once more the birds cry in their loneliness,But now they wheel about our heads; and nowThey have dropped on the grey stone to the north-east.

(A man and a girl both in the costume of a past time, come in. They wear heroic masks)

YOUNG MAN

(raising his lantern)Who is there? I cannot see what you are like,Come to the light.

[Pg 3]

STRANGER

But what have you to fear?

YOUNG MAN

And why have you come creeping through the dark.

(The Girl blows out lantern)