Quiet Please, Quiet Please.

The American Broadcasting Company present Quiet Please, which is written and directed by.

Willis Cooper and the features Ernest Chapel.

Quiet Please for today is called dark Roseline.

There was a time when I loved the rain of night in the streets of New York.

But that is a time long gone, and I remember the wet dark of the march evening only generally now, and.

I find I had no desire now to return to it, though there was a time when I loved it.

I remember the night I thought it was to be my last night on the serf, when the streets were wet with a bitter rain of a waning winter that night, And I remember the sounds of New York that night.

I remember the sound of.

Tires on the asphalt, like the long drawn out sound of striking a kitchen match.

I remember the skirl of whistles and the subterranean bellow of the subway.

I remember the.

Horns sounding wetly in the north and south traffic on sixth Avenue, and the empty echo of voices between the buildings on forty fourth Street.

I remember the unperturbed traffic lights, red and green beacons in the cold rain, and there was a red glow in the sky from Times Square behind me, and lonely yellow windows dim above me in the murk, where other lonely souls to oiled the night away.

And now I gaze on ragged rocks drenched in the spindrift of the sea, and beyond them landward, the wholesome green hills lie peaceful on the breast of the land, and the sound of the pipe comes sweetly across the downs to me.

And here the rain is a living thing, a great gray beast that comes from the sea to fling its fury against the ragged rocks, and hasten inlands of the hills, as if the dark men.

Who first came to these shores.

So many years ago.

Thus have the remembrances of the place that was once my home faded away.

And it is only when the IDEs of march.

Return that I sit here on the shore above the furious waters, and remember the spires of the cathedral, closed about with the towering buildings of the city.

And here again the clamor of the carry pipes, above the searching winds.

Of the avenue.

And now I think of the men that marched to the greater glory of Holy Patrick on his day in the morning, And the banners that wave above the gay paraders.

Lie from me in my heart, for I have found dark rows alone.

It was such a weary time ago that I sat in that room in New York.

And heard those fatal words that Sellen might have fried at the thirteenth.

Her very memory has blurred now, but I remember them.

The door opened, and I will close it again quietly, and stood for a moment silently against it.

I remember how he did not look at me, how he stood there a moment in a thick, sick room silence.

I remember I could not rise from my chair, even when his voice trod on the silence of that ghastly place.

And I knew what he was saying, but his voice seemed to come from a long way off, and his face was unclear, And the pulse began to beat in my temples, and it was a dreadful truth to beat upon my head.

I would not believe what he was saying.

I would not acknowledge these hammered on my temples, and idled myself, and I said, I will not believe it dead and there was silence again.

I knew the silence.

I heard a little small sound, and at last I knew it was my.

Own voice, and the cleaning of the women in the father room rose.

Above my own voice.

And many hours after I was alone and there was no light.

There was more comfort in speaking to you or the hereafter.

At this time, Wayne, let me alone.

There is some comfort, perhaps to remember that her last hours were peaceful, there was.

No pain, and she died in her sleep, unknowing.

Next Saturday was to be our wedding day.

I am sorry for.

You, Wayne, I am beyond sorry.

It will pass.

Time is a great healer, Wayne, Time.

Will I will not heal these wounds time or anything, see the end of my life.

You mustn't talk that way to the end.

That was a fool.

I think it was the beginning.

I know how you feel, Rain, you know how I feel.

How can you know you didn't love Elizabeth.

You knew her, and she was another woman, another patient to stand over and to give medicine to, and.

To let die as you let her die, Wayne, I didn't mean that I won't.

You did all you could, but she died.

Elizabeth died.

Oh no, no, no, no, Wayne, you.

Mustn't, shall I tell you about Elizabeth.

Shall I tell you of the dark haired of her, flung wild in the wind of the summer's afternoon, when we stood on a hill together.

Shall I speak of her laughter like minted gold, and a long warning light beside the sea?

Did you know her blue eyes?

And the candle flame of midnight in the old high house with the rope terrans.

I have held her hands in line and marveled at her voice and the cloning.

And Elizabeth said, she loves me.

And you say to me, you must not.

What is their laught for me?

Without Elizabeth?

Shall I live?

I will not live without her.

No, you can't hold me here.

I will wayne Elizabeth.

And the streets were wet, and the streets were dark, and the sounds of New York I still remember, or what man is there?

Could not remember his last day on earth.

I heard the muted roar of the town, and the dark, hurrying figures of people were in my consciousness too, But it was not the night to care for earthly things.

And the cold rain descended, and the sudden streets gave back the echo, wetly of my aimless footsteps.

Say to me, man, if you have ever loved and remember the black empliness of your own heart, if your mind had ever crossed with the thought of losing forever that dear man yours.

Say to me, woman sitting there, what you would have done in your own bright youth, if the skinny hand of death had snatched your lover.

Away for you too?

Look at your wife, you man, woman, look at your husband.

The curtain of death descend between the two or two?

What would your first thought be?

Would you not say, first in your grief, death, take me too?

And so it was with me the bitter night, and I saw the arms of there, even as you were to.

Do the oily ripples of the other nights, to finger the timbers of the ancient peers along the ro.

There's the wonderful sound of the fog horn counts your dreams of a rainy night in March, when the rain and the fog conspired to teach us what blackness there was once in all the year.

Knew all the sad boat still flying across the bay, and the knight, and all the people.

I'm gon huddle into.

The lighted places and think uneasily of what lies the and the waters below.

I stood there at the side of the water.

And there I made my peace of the city that lay behind the swirling fog in the rain, the tall back drop against which I played my final scene.

And presently, as I stood composing myself, thinking sad last thoughts Albert forgetting lost Elizabeth, in the grandeur of my own final gesture, presently a figure came away from the shadows and walked slowly towards me, and I, like an actor who has lost his cue, paused irresolutely on the rain soaked out of the dock.

And when he came closer, I turned impatiently, and my footing was insecure in the wind, in the darkened all but fell into the swirl below.

Have a care, man, let me be.

You've fallen into the water that's got me that i'd been at the ebby'ard, have struggled in vain and there'd be no one about to hear your choking and screaming in the You'll be drowned, you see, Will you let me alone?

I'm away from the watersheads man, it's not say get up away from mending yourself from the river will not bring Elizabeth back?

What did you?

Who are you?

Don't pull so you'll follow?

What do you want.

I want you to come with me.

I haven't done anything.

You are going to drown yourself?

Is it any of your business?

Come with me, Wayne, Come on with me.

How do you know my name?

I know your name, Wayne, and I knew Elizabeth.

Come with me.

You're a policeman.

No, no, I'm not a policeman.

You said you knew Elizabeth.

Come with me, Hi, where, well, wherever it is, it's better than the watery death self.

No, son, I'm an older man than you, and I tell you.

It's no good.

Not older than I.

Oh, yes, I am Wayne.

You knew Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wouldn't want you to do this.

Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wants you to live, Wayne, to live?

What's there to live for?

Why will you come with me?

Then?

And maybe I'll show you?

I cannot say now.

What does a conpulch that led me to follow his steps down the dark side and out to the end of the wharf in the darkness.

I cannot say, but I am glad to stay that.

I heeded his.

Words and the soaking cold rain along the dark side in the dark to a ladder at the end.

And he paused and took my arm again.

And pointed down, you were not afraid of that water a moment ago away, And I looked at him, and in the gloom it seemed that I could see the glow of the little lantern at the end of the dock.

So he stood between me and the light down the ladder because of both.

Ways, and the latter was wet and flamm me to my hands, and I could hear the.

Wooden rungs creak beneath my weight.

I did not know why I followed him, for I could see no boat in the water below.

But I have spoken of a compulsion.

And though he spoke quietly enough in the night, I followed him.

Will you sit in the stern, then, Wayne, while I roll no was the river?

Since you seen the bereaved man, the lorn lover, the grief stricken man about to take his own life for a lost love, and foiled at it by another stranger in the dark, and setting off in a cockle shell of a particle in the windy waters of a marks night, were the same total stranger.

I said to him, where are we going?

And I could feel that he was smiling, Allow didn't as.

I said again to him, do you know where you're going for a young man who was about to take his own life a few minutes ago.

You show over much concern we'll be run down by a boat.

We will not, but if we do, you will drown and die.

And is that not what you want?

Well?

I you want to choose your own way of dying?

Is that it?

Where are we going?

You're forgetting Elizabeth in your concern for yourself way.

I have not forgotten Elizabeth.

Do not forget her way?

For if you forget her, what do not forget her?

Where are we?

What do you care?

Well?

I be silent, I will think of Elizabeth.

And the waves rose higher and higher, and the wind came down about my ears, and we seemed to be going faster and ever faster than night, And always the silent man sat over against me in a little both, and all the waves grew mountain high in a wild night.

Still they applied his oars and stood.

He traveled down upon the face of a deep and how there was no light to be seen in the flying scud, all but smothered me.

And I grew desperately cold, and the old world, And again I asked him, where are we going?

They still, and my thoughts were not compose, and at last I come to a kind of restless sleep, cold and wet, entirely unhappy there in the boat and long upon the ocean, and through my seat we seemed to hear strange music and the voice of.

My companion in the boat, when there was poetry in his voices.

Out of the glowing west.

The sun was dying behind them up from the sea, and the nights for the light of the moon, dart for the boats, and dark for the men in the darkness, seeking the shore of the.

Sea, as they chanted their song in the night, Seek in the shan van Bolt, the undying sorrowful mother, seeking the Shannon von Bolt on the shore where the Shannon descends.

Stretch out your arms for shan Ban both stand on the headlands and show us the way weep for your sons, Oh horriful mother.

The black boats are sailing, bring us the day.

And when I opened my eyes, the first rays of the sun sped across the waters to me, and the broad land lay before us, and there was a great lazy river that.

Came down out of the hills, and the.

Fresh wind was blowing at our back.

Suddenly rushed along on the calm breast of the sea.

And I rubbed my eyes, and I asked my companion, in amazement, where are we?

And he smiled and shook his head and did not answer.

And the shore drew nearer and nearer.

And I remembered the poetry of my dreams, and I leaned over to him, and I said, answer.

Me, for you haven't asked me anything yet.

When I said where are we?

You know in a moon?

And what is the chan van vote?

Ask rather?

Who is the chan van Volte?

Who is she?

By Wayne?

She has many names, but the name we know best is the sorrowful Mother, the weeping one who does not always weep for grief, but sometimes for joy.

Who Ah, she has many names, and of all the women of all the world, she is the fairest my son.

And she is the one that the fear bulbs, the very dark men sang to as they sailed their black boats across.

The sea from beyond the second Sun.

I heard you in my dreams.

I think I spoke of them.

I spoke of the song I sang.

And it may be I even sang.

It, as she and I are old old friends.

The shah gun boat and I and what is this place?

We're coming to ourselves?

Oh have you forgotten Elizabeth and all your curiosity?

Than hat?

I've not forgotten Elizabeth.

Where are you taking me?

Why to a certain place wayIn wayne shamous column o' phelan.

I don't understand, you will.

And he shook his head and laid on the oars again.

And the little black boat headed toward the mouth of the great Gentle River.

And there drew higher land on either side, and the green hills stretched to way beyond.

And I saw a woman standing on the beach at the estuary as we drew closer, And for.

A moment my heart leaped in me, for her hair was dark like Elizabeth, since she had the figure that I remembered so well.

And then I knew sharp despair again.

Poor Elizabeth was dead.

But I think my companion must have seen the gathering tears in my eyes, for he spoke very gently.

You remember Elizabeth again.

I have not forgotten Elizabeth.

I will not forget Elizabeth.

That is well, my son.

But tell me what is this place?

Look about you?

And we were in the very mouth of.

The river, and the blue of the sea had turned not to a kind of golden green from the silt that the river brings down from the hills far beyond.

And I looked in the low hills stretched away as far as I could see, and the sun shone on a scene of peace, and I fancied, I got your birds.

Singing, and you no way.

You are then way in a boo where look on your left hand that is clear, and on your right is the land of ten May.

This is not a beautiful sight ten in the morning.

It is that I always loved.

And we drew nearer to the shore, and I looked on the shore and the woman was standing there by the waterside, and she was dressed in a green, flowing gown, and her hair was dark, like I've heard as the wing of a raven, and her face was peaceful.

To look upon, no ravaged with tears.

And I looked from her to my companion in the boat, and he spoke to me.

That is the shan van Volt.

And the keel of the little boat grated to the shore.

And I stood up, and the woman spoke to me, and her voice was like my mother's voice, as I remembered it.

All other words she spoke were in a strange.

Tongue knew that spile, and she.

Took my hand and I stepped out of the boat.

And she turned to my companion, and she.

Had knew the spiles that he used.

Heaven had been away over long, heaven, And I said, Patrick, Patrick, And when I turned to look at him again, he had vanished from my sight.

And I turned back to the lovely woman who had greeted me, and she was smiling at me.

Well from the whole wayne, shameless, callum old file.

You.

I thought perhaps that I had come to those isles of the blessed that I spoken of in the old old books.

And I thought perhaps this place was heaven, for it was very fair.

And I thought in my heart for a moment, perhaps I shall find Elizabeth here, For I was not sure what this place was.

And it seemed that the heaven I had heard of could not possibly be fairer.

And I may say to this day that as yet I have had no foretaste, no view of Heaven yet vouchsafed to me.

Yet, if Heaven shall be fairer than this lamb sat down in the shining sea, then it would be heaven.

Indeed.

And in the long days which were the days of spring, I wandered by myself along the shore, and the sun was good, and the sea was endless.

And when the night came there were the stars, and the night breeze was sweet.

And then the thoughts of Elizabeth came back again to haunt me, and always my wonder grew.

Had I indeed taken my life?

And was this the Allusian field?

Was this the limbo for unjudged souls?

Was I dead myself and wandering till the judgment days?

It is a true land, Wayne, See the grass beneath your feet?

How can have founded the waves.

And be sure it is all?

I'm lost?

You weep for your lost Elizabeth.

I shall never cease to weep for her.

Shan Van vote.

A day'll come, Wayne, No day for me.

A day comes when grief is forgotten.

Now when you know dark Rosan No.

Who is dark Rosalie?

Who are you?

Who?

Who is Patrick?

We would none of us live say for Patrik Padrick brought the word to it.

Padriick came from.

The lands far beyond yonder seat, and Padick brought the cross to us.

All here he is a young man.

Padrick led us all from the dark mystery of the pagan hell.

And it was Padrick's hands that has kept us safe.

For all the years of our life.

I have not always been fair, when this place is not always being fair.

Great dragons breathing fire, and dire persons were in the hills till Padrick vanish, and I have found much to weep for.

Wherefore they call me the sorrowful Mother, the shan van Good.

But as Patrick says, in these other days, I do not.

Always weep for them.

Tell me shan Fan, For I was about to die for the love of a lost one I know is she?

Here?

Is Elizabeth?

Here, dark Rosalin is he?

And when I looked up at her from the ground, there was another woman standing where she had stood.

And this one was young and fair, and her hair was dark, and her eyes were blue, and she smiled upon me, and for a moment my heart stopped, for she spoke in Elizabeth's.

Voice, he is many signs of my love.

And sprung to my feet, and my voice shook as I took her hand in mine, for the hand was the hand of my lost love, Elizabeth.

I am Rosalie, dark Rosily, Elizabeth, my loss Elizabeth.

You look on me, and you find in me whatever love you have lost.

I will be in your heart forever, and you will never cease to love me.

I am dyed.

Rosalie, and you will die from me if the time comes, my lover, and so many have died for love of me before.

I will never die.

I live forever, and you are mine.

You will be faithful to me forever.

Who are you?

Who are?

I am called Dark Rosalie, and sometimes I am called Shan van Bog.

But I have another name.

I am called Erin, and by that name am I loved in every quarter of the globe.

It is my heart that you hear in the night.

It is my.

Kisses that the soft.

Breeze of midday brings to you.

And me is Elizabeth and Helen, and the blood of mather sings in my veins.

And I am every woman every man of Aaron.

Has ever loved.

You are my lost love.

You are I am Dark Rosalie, and Holy Patrick.

Here my all.

When the sun rises up on the.

Day that thesurs, whether I walk the sands of the desert, or whether I shall sail the seven seas, whether I prosper, whether I beg in the streets, whether I be living.

Even though I die, I swear I will remember Dark Rosalie, so hurries he no longer The title of today's Quiet Priest Sorry is Dark Rosaline.

It was written and directed by Willis Cooper.

The man who.

Spoke to you was Ernest Chapel, and Patrick was played by Avlatimer Leora Thatcher with the Sean bron Volt.

Dark Rosaline was played by Charita Baar that Mark Forbes played Arnold.

As usual.

Music for Quiet please good by Albert Berman.

Now for a worried about next week's quia please, here is my very good friend and I writer, director.

Willis Cooper.

Bill, thank you for listening to Quiet Please next week my star is called the Smell of high Wines, and so.

Until next week.

At the same time, I am quietly yours.

Ernest Chapel, and now remind her predictions of your future and of events in the world's future are coming your way soon.

Over this ABC station, Drew Pearson will be heard in just a moment.

This is ABC, the American Broadcasting Company.

This is w j Z, New York's first station.