‘The mysterious female?’ said Merton brutally. ‘Dr. Hyde calls her “a mysterious female.” It is in his Literary History of Ireland.’
‘Pray let us hear the poem, Mr. Merton,’ said Miss Macrae, attuned to the charm of the hour and the scene.
‘She came to Bran’s Court,’ said Blake, ‘from the Isle of Apples, and no man knew whence she came, and she chanted to them.’
‘Twenty-eight quatrains, no less, a hundred and twelve lines,’ said the insufferable Merton. ‘Could you give us them in Gaelic?’
The bard went on, not noticing the interruption, ‘I shall translate
‘There is a distant isle
Around which sea horses glisten,
A fair course against the white swelling surge,
Four feet uphold it.’‘Feet of white bronze under it.’
‘White bronze, what’s that, eh?’ asked the practical Mr. Macrae.
‘Glittering through beautiful ages!
Lovely land through the world’s age,
On which the white blossoms drop.’
‘Beautiful!’ said Miss Macrae.
‘There are twenty-six more quatrains,’ said Merton.