The ancient heroes used to be laid with their arms beside
them; their horses were slaughtered so that their spirits might be
free to serve them in the aerial kingdoms they had gone to inhabit. My
pyre should be built on the island facing me; its flames would be seen
for miles and miles; the lake would be lighted up by it, and my body
would become a sort of beacon-fire--the beacon of the pagan future
awaiting old Ireland! Nor would the price of such a funeral be
anything too excessive--a few hundred pounds perhaps, the price of a
thousand larches and a few barrels of scented oil and the great feast:
for while I was roasting, my mourners should eat roast meat and drink
wine and wear gay dresses--the men as well as the women; and the
gayest music would be played. The "Marriage of Figaro" and some
Offenbach would be pleasing to my spirit, the ride of the Valkyrie
would be an appropriate piece; but I am improvising a selection, and
that is a thing that requires careful consideration. It would be a
fine thing indeed if such a funeral--I hate the word--such a burning
as this could be undertaken, and there is no reason why it should not
be, unless the law interdicts public burnings of human bodies. And
then my face clouded, and my soul too; I grew melancholy as the lake,
as the southern mountains that rippled down the sky plaintive as an
Irish melody, for the burning I had dreamed of so splendidly might
never take place.
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