DEIRDRE—Dear fostermother, how the spring is beginning! The music of the Father's harp is awakening the flowers. Now the winter's sleep is over, and the spring flows from the lips of the harp. Do you not feel the thrill in the wind—a joy answering the trembling strings? Dear fostermother, the spring and the music are in my heart!
LAVARCAM—The harp has but three notes; and, after sleep and laughter, the last sound is of weeping.
DEIRDRE—Why should there be any sorrow while I am with you? I am happy here. Last night in a dream I saw the blessed Sidhe upon the mountains, and they looked on me with eyes of love.
(An old HERDSMAN enters, who bows before LAVARCAM.)
HERDSMAN—Lady, the High King is coming through the woods.
LAVARCAM—Deirdre, go to the grianan for a little. You shall tell me your dream again, my child.
DEIRDRE—Why am I always hidden from the King's sight.
LAVARCAM—It is the King's will you should see no one except these aged servants.
DEIRDRE—Am I indeed fearful to look upon, foster-mother? I do not think so, or you would not love me.
LAVARCAM—It is the King's will.