The moon is full, the stars are bright,
The monks are all asleep;
Now gayly come the Fays to-night,
Their revelry to keep.
They love the abbeys old and gray,
Whence the vesper song is heard,
And the matin hymn at break of day
Awakes the singing bird.
With waving torch and tiny shout,
The nimble foot they ply,
And Fairy laughs are ringing out
Beneath the midnight sky;--
Then mortals hear the merry peals,
And wonder at the sound,
So like the chiming of harebells,
When light winds steal around.