A witch of the air

Can make a leaf confound us with memories.

They run upon the wind and hurl the spells

That make us nothing, out of the invisible wind.

They have gone to school to learn the trick of it.

CUCHULAIN.

No, no—there’s nothing out of common here;

The winds are innocent.—That arm-ring, boy.

A KING.

If I’ve your leave I’ll take this challenge up.