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The Fairies- William Allington

21 Aug

The Fairies

 Up the airy mountain
      Down the rushy glen,
 We daren't go a-hunting,
      For fear of little men;
 Wee folk, good folk,
      Trooping all together;
 Green jacket, red cap,
      And white owl's feather.
 Down along the rocky shore
      Some make their home,
 They live on crispy pancakes
      Of yellow tide-foam;
 Some in the reeds
      Of the black mountain-lake,
 With frogs for their watch-dogs,
      All night awake.

 High on the hill-top
      The old King sits;
 He is now so old and gray
      He's nigh lost his wits.
 With a bridge of white mist
      Columbkill he crosses,
 On his stately journeys
      From Slieveleague to Rosses;
 Or going up with music,
      On cold starry nights,
 To sup with the Queen,
      Of the gay Northern Lights.

 They stole little Bridget
      For seven years long;
 When she came down again
      Her friends were all gone.
 They took her lightly back
      Between the night and morrow;
 They thought she was fast asleep,
      But she was dead with sorrow.
 They have kept her ever since
      Deep within the lake,
 On a bed of flag leaves,
      Watching till she wake.

 By the craggy hill-side,
      Through the mosses bare,
 They have planted thorn trees
      For pleasure here and there.
 Is any man so daring
      As dig them up in spite?
 He shall find the thornies set
      In his bed at night.

 Up the airy mountain
      Down the rushy glen,
 We daren't go a-hunting,
      For fear of little men;
 Wee folk, good folk,
      Trooping all together;
 Green jacket, red cap,
      And white owl's feather.

— William Allingham

 
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Posted by on August 21, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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