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I remember Alastair’s face and I am brave again,
And all the fairies of the lower air
Powerless as autumn leaves before the wind
Against the burning purpose of my heart.
[Wistfully.
I wish that I might live the summer through,
Milking the cattle in the upland glens,
And singing songs before the sheiling door,
Careless and happy as I used to be.
Eilidh will miss my hand at milking-time,
But you will tell them to be soft with her.

Calum. Eilidh will be the princess of the cows,
When they are herded in the upland glens.

Mairi. And you will bid the children think of me.
I shall be happy if I hear them weep,
And see their tears across the flames of Hell.

Calum. Oh Mairi, there will be no Hell for you,
But the soft grass that is the floor of Heaven,
With lilies of the south between each blade,
And angels to go with you hand in hand,
And God the Father at the end of all.

Mairi. Calum, soft words are harder than sharp stones

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