The Fairies
William Allingham
1824 to 1889
Track 1
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Up the airy mountain,
Deep within the lake,
For fear of little men;
For seven years long;
Or going up with music
High on the hill-top
Down along the rocky shore
When she came down again
On cold starry nights
Watching till she wake.
The old King sits;
Down the rushy glen,
On his stately journeys
Her friends were all gone.
Trooping all together;
They have kept her ever since
And white owl's feather!
For pleasure here and there.
Columbkill he crosses,
We daren't go a-hunting
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Wee folk, good folk,
For fear of little men;
They live on crispy pancakes
By the craggy hill-side,
Between the night and morrow,
And white owl's feather!
Of yellow tide-foam;
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
He's nigh lost his wits.
We daren't go a-hunting
He is now so old and gray
They thought that she was fast asleep,
Some make their home,
Through the mosses bare,
With a bridge of white mist
All night awake.
But she was dead with sorrow.
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
Wee folk, good folk,
Up the airy mountain,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Down the rushy glen,
Trooping all together;
In his bed at night.
If any man so daring
Green jacket, red cap,
Green jacket, red cap,
They have planted thorn-trees
They took her lightly back,
As dig them up in spite,
They stole little Bridget