0 Ulysses
THE HALCYON DAYS: Mackerel! Live us again. Hur-
ray! (They cheer)
BLOOM: (Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered,
starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise) Again! I feel
sixteen! What a lark! Let’s ring all the bells in Montague
street. (He cheers feebly) Hurray for the High School!
THE ECHO: Fool!
THE YEWS: (Rustling) She is right, our sister. Whisper.
(Whispered kisses are heard in all the wood. Faces of hama-
dryads peep out from the boles and among the leaves and
break, blossoming into bloom.) Who profaned our silent
shade?
THE NYMPH: (Coyly, through parting fingers) There? In
the open air?
THE YEWS: (Sweeping downward) Sister, yes. And on
our virgin sward.
THE WATERFALL:Poulaphouca Poulaphouca
Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.THE NYMPH: (With wide fingers) O, infamy!
BLOOM: I was precocious. Youth. The fauna. I sacri-
ficed to the god of the forest. The flowers that bloom in the
spring. It was pairing time. Capillary attraction is a natural
phenomenon. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I saw at her night
toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa’s operag-
lasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. She rolled downhill at
Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits.