“The green world would wither as a dry leaf, and as a dead leaf be blown idly before the wind that knows not whither it bloweth.”
“Manannan, if death were to come to thee, what would happen?”
“The deep seas would run dry, O Orchil: there would be sand falling in the place of the dews, and at last the world would reel and fall into the abyss.”
“Hesus, if death were to come to thee, what would happen?”
“There would be no pulse at the heart of earth, O Orchil, no lift of any star against any sun. There would be a darkness and a silence.”
Then Orchil laughed.
“And yet,” she said, “when Angus Ogue had the snow-sleep of a thousand years, none knew it! For a thousand years the pulse of his heart of love has been the rhythmic beat of the world. For a thousand years the breath of his nostrils has been as the coming of Spring in the human heart. For a thousand years the breath of his life has been warm against the lips of lovers. For a thousand years the memory of these has been sweet against oblivion. Nay, not one hath dreamed of the deep sleep of Angus Ogue.”
“Who is he?” cried Keithoir. “Is he older than I, who saw the green earth born?”
“Who is he?” cried Manannan. “Is he older than I, who saw the first waters come forth out of the void?”
“Who is he?” cried Hesus. “Is he older than I, who saw the first comet wander from the starry fold; who saw the moon when it was a flaming sun, and the sun when it was a sevenfold intolerable flame?”