“So, warrior, you return.  It is well.  Not yet for thee is the brotherhood of the Sidhe, and thy destiny and Fand’s lie far apart.  Thine is not so great but it will be greater, in ages yet to come, in other lands, among other peoples, when the battle fury in thee shall have turned to wisdom and anger to compassion.  Nations that lie hidden in the womb of time shall hail thee as friend, deliverer and saviour.  Go and forget what has passed.  This also thou shalt forget.  It will not linger in thy mind; but in thy heart shall remain the memory and it will urge thee to nobler deeds.  Farewell, warrior, saviour that is to be!”

As the two went along the moon lit shore mighty forms followed, and there was a waving of awful hands over them to blot out memory.

In the room where Fand lay with mad beating heart tearing itself in remorse, there was one watching with divine pity.  Mannanan, the Golden Glory, the Self of the Sun.  “Weep not, O shadow; thy days of passion and pain are over.” breathed the Pity in her breast.  “Rise up, O Ray, from thy sepulchre of forgetfulness.  Spirit come forth to they ancient and immemorial home.”  She rose up and stood erect.  As the Mantle of Mannanan enfolded her, no human words could tell the love, the exultation, the pathos, the wild passion of surrender, the music of divine and human life interblending.  Faintly we echo—­like this spake the Shadow and like this the Glory.

The Shadow

Who art thou, O Glory,
        In flame from the deep,
Where stars chant their story,
        Why trouble my sleep?

I hardly had rested,
        My dreams wither now: 
Why comest thou crested
        And gemmed on they brow?

The Glory

Up, Shadow, and follow
        The way I will show;
The blue gleaming hollow
        To-night we will know,

And rise mid the vast to
        The fountain of days;
From whence we had pass to
        The parting of ways.

The Shadow

I know thee, O Glory: 
        Thine eyes and thy brow
With white fire all hoary
        Come back to me now.

Together we wandered
        In ages agone;
Our thoughts as we pondered
        Were stars at the dawn.

The glory has dwindled,
        My azure and gold: 
Yet you keep enkindled
        The Sun-fire of old.

My footsteps are tied to
        The heath and the stone;
My thoughts earth-allied-to—­
        Ah! leave me alone.

Go back, thou of gladness,
        Nor wound me with pain,
Nor spite me with madness,
        Nor come nigh again.

The Glory

Why tremble and weep now,
        Whom stars once obeyed? 
Come forth to the deep now
        And be not afraid.