THIRD MONK. Sweet again! It is timely spoken, O trumpet of the King!
FIRST MONK. The King’s banner is going into the battle!
SECOND MONK. I see the little King!
THIRD MONK. Is he going into the battle?
FIRST MONK. Yes.
THE MONKS AND BOYS (_with one voice_). Take victory in battle and
slaying, O King!
SECOND MONK. It is a good fight now.
FIRST MONK. Two seas have met on the plain.
SECOND MONK. Two raging seas!
FIRST MONK. One sea rolls back.
SECOND MONK. It is the enemy that retreats!
FIRST MONK. The little King goes through them.
SECOND MONK. He goes through them like a hawk through small birds.
FIRST MONK. Yea, like a wolf through a flock of sheep on a plain.
SECOND MONK. Like a torrent through a mountain gap.
FIRST MONK. It is a road of rout before him.
SECOND MONK. There are great uproars in the battle. It is a roaring path
down which the King rides.
FIRST MONK. O golden head above the slaughter! O shining, terrible sword
of the King!
SECOND MONK. The enemy flies!
FIRST MONK. They are beaten! They are beaten! It is a red road of rout!
Raise shouts of exultation!
SECOND MONK. My grief!
FIRST MONK. My grief! My grief!
THE ABBOT. What is that?
FIRST MONK. The little King is down!
THE ABBOT. Has he the victory?
FIRST MONK. Yes, but he himself is down. I do not see his golden head. I
do not see his shining sword. My grief! They raise his body from the
plain.
THE ABBOT. Is the enemy flying?
SECOND MONK. Yes, they fly. They are pursued. They are scattered. They
are scattered as a mist would be scattered. They are no longer seen on
the plain.
THE ABBOT. It’s thanks to God! (_Keening is heard._) Thou hast been
answered, O terrible voice! Old herald, my foster child has answered!
THIRD MONK. They bear hither a dead child.
THE KING. He said that he would sleep to-night and that I should watch.
_Heroes come upon the green bearing the body of Giolla na Naomh on a
bier; there are women keening it. The bier is laid in the centre of
the green._
THE KING. He has brought me back my sword. He has guarded my banner
well.
THE ABBOT (_lifting the sword from the bier_). Take the sword.
THE KING. No, I will let him keep it. A King should sleep with a sword.
This was a very valiant King. (_He takes the sword from the Abbot and
lays it again upon the bier. He kneels._) I do homage to thee, O dead
King, O victorious child! I kiss thee, O white body, since it is thy
purity that hath redeemed my people. (_He kisses the forehead of Giolla
na Naomh. They commence to keen again._)
THE ABBOT. Do not keen this child, for he hath purchased freedom for his
people. Let shouts of exultation be raised and let a canticle be sung in
praise of God.
_The body is borne into the monastery with a Te Deum._