Glory to the great Gods, it is no Sword I am seeing:
Nor do I see aught but the flowing of a river.
And I see shadows on the flow that are ever fleeing,
And I see a woman washing shrouds for ever and ever.
Then he ceased, for he heard the woman sing:
Glory to God on high, and to Mary, Mother of Jesus,
Here am I washing away the sins of the shriven,
O Torcall of Lochlin, throw off the red sins that ye cherish
And I will be giving you the washen shroud that they wear in Heaven.
Filled with a great awe, Torcall bowed his head. Then once more he took his harp, and he sang:
O well it is I am seeing, Woman of the Shrouds,
That you have not for me any whirling of the Sword:
I have lost my gods, O woman, so what will the name be
Of thee and thy gods, O woman that art Washer of the Ford?
But the woman did not look up from the dark water, nor did she cease from washing the shrouds made of the woven moonbeams. But he heard this song above the sighing of the water:
It is Mary Magdalene my name is, and I loved Christ.
And Christ is the son of God, and Mary the Mother of Heaven.
And this river is the river of death, and the shadows
Are the fleeing souls that are lost if they be not shriven.
Then Torcall drew nigher unto the stream. A melancholy wind was upon it.
“Where are all the dead of the world?” he said.
But the woman answered not.