The shield is put on the child's left arm.

THE ABBOT.

Let him be given the spear of the King. [(The spearbearer comes forward

and holds up the spear.)] A blessing on this spear! May it be sharp against foes!

THE HEROES.

A blessing on this spear!

THE ABBOT.

Let him be given the sword of the King. [(The King lifts his sword and girds it round the child's waist. Giolla na Naomh draws the sword and holds it in his right hand.)] A blessing on this sword! May it be hard to smite foes!

THE HEROES.

A blessing on this sword!

THE ABBOT.

I call this little lad King, and I put the battle under his protection in the name of God.

THE KING.

(kneeling hefore the boy)

I do homage to thee, O King, and I put the battle under thy protection.

THE HEROES, MONKS, BOYS, etc.

(kneeling)

We do homage to thee, O King, and we put the battle under thy protection.

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

I undertake to sustain the battle in the name of God.

THE ABBOT.

Let a steed be brought him. [(A steed is brought.)] Let the banner of the King be unfurled. [(The banner is unfurled.)] Turn thy face to the battle, O King!

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

(kneeling)

Bless me, Father.

THE ABBOT.

A blessing on thee, little one.

THE HEROES, etc.

(with one voice)

Take victory in battle and slaying, O King.

The little King mounts, and, with the heroes and soldiers and gillies, rides to the battle. The Abbot, the King, the Monks, and the Boys watch them.

THE ABBOT.

King, I have given you the noblest jewel that was in my house. I loved yonder child.

THE KING.

Priest, I have never received from my tributary kings a kinglier gift.

FIRST MONK.

They have reached the place of battle.

THE ABBOT.

O strong God, make strong the hand of this child. Make firm his foot. Make keen his sword. Let the purity of his heart and the humbleness of his spirit be unto him a magnifying of courage and an exaltation of mind. Ye angels that fought the ancient battles, ye veterans of God, make a battle-pen about him and fight before him with flaming swords.

THE MONKS AND BOYS

Amen, Amen.

THE ABBOT.

O God, save this nation by the sword of the sinless boy.

THE KING.

And O Christ, that was

crucified on the hill, bring the child safe from the perilous battle.

THE ABBOT.

King, King, freedom is not purchased but with a great price. [(A trumpet speaks.)] Let the description of the battle be given us.

The First Monk and the Second Monk go upon the rampart.

FIRST MONK.

The two hosts are face to face.

Another trumpet speaks.

SECOND MONK.

That is sweet! It is the trumpet of the King!

Shouts.

FIRST MONK.

The King's host raises shouts.

Other shouts.

SECOND MONK.

The enemy answers them.

FIRST MONK.

The hosts advance against each other.

SECOND MONK.

They fight.

FIRST MONK.

Our people are yielding.

THIRD MONK.

Say not so.

SECOND MONK.

My grief, they are yielding.

A trumpet speaks.

THIRD MONK.

Sweet again! It is timely spoken, O trumpet of the King!

FIRST MONK.

The King's banner is going into the battle!

SECOND MONK.

I see the little King!

THIRD MONK.

Is he going into the battle?

FIRST MONK.

Yes.

THE MONKS AND BOYS.

(with one voice)

Take victory in battle and slaying, O King!

SECOND MONK.

It is a good fight now.

FIRST MONK.

Two seas have met on the plain.

SECOND MONK.

Two raging seas!

FIRST MONK.

One sea rolls back.

SECOND MONK.

It is the enemy that retreats!

FIRST MONK.

The little King goes through them.

SECOND MONK.

He goes through them like a hawk through small birds.

FIRST MONK.

Yea, like a wolf through a flock of sheep on a plain.

SECOND MONK.

Like a torrent through a mountain gap.

FIRST MONK.

It is a road of rout before him.

SECOND MONK.

There are great uproars in the battle. It is a roaring path down which the King rides.

FIRST MONK.

O golden head above the slaughter! O shining, terrible sword of the King!

SECOND MONK.

The enemy flies!

FIRST MONK.

They are beaten! They are beaten! It is a red road of rout! Raise shouts of exultation!

SECOND MONK.

My grief!

FIRST MONK.

My grief! My grief!

THE ABBOT.

What is that?

FIRST MONK.

The little King is down!

THE ABBOT.

Has he the victory?

FIRST MONK.

Yes, but he himself is down. I do not see his golden head. I do not see his shining sword. My grief! They raise his body from the plain.

THE ABBOT.

Is the enemy flying?

SECOND MONK.

Yes, they fly. They are pursued. They are scattered. They are scattered as a mist would be scattered. They are no longer seen on the plain.

THE ABBOT.

It's thanks to God! [(Keening is heard.)] Thou hast been answered, O terrible voice! Old herald, my foster child has answered!

THIRD MONK.

They bear hither a dead child.

THE KING.

He said that he would sleep to-night and that I should watch.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 520