Page:The green helmet and other poems.pdf/102

Wail, but keep from the road.

[He kneels before Red Man. There is a pause]

Quick to your work, old Radish, you will fade when the cocks have crowed.

[A black cat-headed Man holds out the Helmet. The Red Man takes it]

Red Man

I have not come for your hurt, I'm the Rector of this land.

And with my spitting cat-heads, my frenzied moon-bred band,
Age after age I sift it, and choose for its championship
The man who hits my fancy.

[He places the Helmet on Cuchulain's head]