The Fairies by William Allingham

  This is off the beaten path for this blog, but I found this poem in the book 'Irish Fairy & Folk Tales' by William Butler Yates called 'The Faeries' by Irish poet William Allingham. It is a beautifully sad  lyrical poem about the good wee people of Ireland ( must be nice or they can get a trifle nasty, according to what I have read so far). Anyway, I thought I would share it with you, I hope you enjoy it.

THE FAERIES

by

William Allingham 

 Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,

We daren't go a hunting

For fear of little men;

We 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

The old King sits;

He is now so old and gray

He nigh lost his wits.

With a bridge ogf 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 long years;

When she game down again

Her friends were 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 wakes.

By the craggy hill-side,

Through the mosses bare,

They have planted thorn-trees

For pleasure here and there.

If any man so daring

As dig them up in spite,

He shall find there sharpest thorns

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!