Read it through once

MOTHER. (in fear). Hush!—do you hear that?—it's the soldiers' drum. GILLANE. (running). They'll be upon us in an hour. OLD WOMAN. (calmly). The town is awake. The women are runnin' to the hills. There will be a wreath on every gate. MICHAEL. (trampling about). I'll be the first of all. MARY. (hiding her face). Oh, Michael, don't leave me behind. MICHAEL. (taking off his coat). Take care o' the house—an' the mother—an' the cows. I will come back through the gate. OLD WOMAN. (with a strange light). When you go you will see me at the head of the procession; I will have a banner with a harp on it. MOTHER. (sobbing). God keep ye, Michael. (MICHAEL goes out through the gate. MARY follows. The OLD WOMAN stands alone in the gate. She pulls aside her cloak and the patches fall from it as if they were leaves; as she turns the green shines out anew and she is young and beautiful. There is a cry as of trumpets.) OLD WOMAN. (in a radiant voice). My poor people!—they have risen at last! (She goes slowly away up the road; the music grows and the drum beats louder. The curtain falls.)