All up on the Caldon-Low?”
“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow.”
“And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon-Hill?”
“I heard the drops of the water made,
And the green corn ears to fill.”
“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night on the Caldon-Low.”
“Then take me on your knee, mother,
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine.
“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
And their dancing feet so small;
But, oh, the sound of their talking
Was merrier far than all!”
“And what were the words, my Mary,
That you did hear them say?”
“I’ll tell you all, my mother—
But let me have my way!
“And some they played with the water,
And rolled it down the hill;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn
The poor old miller’s mill;
“‘For there has been no water,
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!
“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyes!’
“And some they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill:—
“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,
Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow’s corn.
“‘Oh, the poor blind old widow—
Though she has been blind so long,
She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,
And the corn stands stiff and strong.’
“And some they brought the brown lintseed,
And flung it down from the Low—
‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,
In the weaver’s croft shall grow!
“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,
How will he laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’
“And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin—
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.
“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another—
A little sheet for Mary’s bed,
And an apron for her mother!’
“And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free:
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,
There was no one left but me.
“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,
The mists were cold and grey,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
“But, as I came down from the hill-top,
I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how merry the wheel did go.
“And I peeped into the widow’s field;
And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green.
“And down by the weaver’s cot I stole,
To see if the flax were high;
But I saw the weaver at his gate,
With the good news in his eye!
“Now, this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I’m tired as I can be.”
MARY HOWITT.
THE FAIRIES’ PASSAGE.
I.
Tapp, tapp! Rapp, rapp! “Get up, Gaffer Ferryman.”
“Eh? who is there?” The clock strikes Three.
“Get up, do, Gaffer! You are the very man
We have been long—long—longing to see.”
The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,
And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling,
Over the wares in his way to the door.
But he sees no more
Than he saw before,
Till a voice is heard—“O Ferryman, dear!
Here we are waiting, all of us here!
We are a wee, wee colony, we;
Some two hundred in all, or three.
Ferry us over the river Lee
Ere dawn of day,
And we will pay
The most we may,
In our own wee way!”
II.
“Who are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?”
“O, we have dwelt over-long in this land.
The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too;
Nothing at all but they now understand;
We are daily vanishing under the thunder
Of some huge engine or iron wonder;
That iron—O, it has entered our souls!”
“——Your souls? O, Goles!
You queer little drolls!
Do you mean——?” “Good Gaffer, do aid us with speed,
For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!
And a very long way we have to go,
Eight or ten thousand miles or so,
Hither and thither, and to and fro;
With our pots and pans,
And little gold cans;
But our light caravans
Run swifter than man’s!”
III.
“Well, well, you may come!” said the Ferryman, affably;
“Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge!”
Then again to the little folk—“Though you seem laughably
Small, I don’t mind, if your coppers be large.”
O, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing
(The waterman making vain efforts at hushing
The hubbub the while) there followed these words!
What clapping of boards!
What strapping of cords!
What stowing away of children and wives,
And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!
Till all had safely got into the boat,
And the Ferryman clad in his tip-top coat,
And his wee little fairies were fairly afloat!
Then ding! ding! ding!
And kling! kling! kling!
How the coppers did ring
In the tin pitcherling!
IV.
Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,
Smoothly, and so forth, but after a while
It swayed and it swagged this way and that way, and presently
Chest after chest, and pile after pile,
Of the little folks’ goods began tossing and rolling,
And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling!
O, Mab! if the hubbub was great before,
It was now some two or three million times more;
Crash went the wee crocks, and the clocks, and the locks,
Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;
And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries—
“Take care!”—“See there!”—“Oh, dear! my eyes!”
“I am killed!”—“I am drowned!”—with groans and sighs;
Till to land they drew;
“Yeo hoe! Pull to!
Tiller-rope, thro’ and thro’!”
And all’s right anew.
V.
“Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities,
... Eh! what is this? Where are they at all?
Where are they and where are their tiny commodities?
Well! as I live!” He looks blank as a wall,
The poor Ferryman! Round him, and round him he gazes,
But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
Of utter bewilderment! All, all are gone—
And he stands alone,
Like a statue of stone,
In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,
And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear
With other odd sounds—“Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Tol, lol; zid, ziddle—quee, quee—bah! bah!
Fizzigigiggidy! phse! sha! sha!”
“O, ye thieves, ye thieves! ye rascally thieves!”
The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
And there, alas! to his horror perceives,
That the little folks’ mode of making him richer
Had been to pay with him—withered leaves!
CLARENCE MANGAN.
THUBBER-NA-SHIE; OR, THE FAIRY WELL.
[Amongst the many old and fanciful superstitions embodied in the
traditions of our peasantry, some of the most poetical are those
connected with spring wells, which in Ireland have been invested with
something of a sacred character ever since the days of Druidical worship.
It is in some parts of the country an article of popular belief, that
the desecration of a spring by any unworthy use is followed invariably
by some misfortune to the offender; and that the well itself, which is
regarded as the source of fruitfulness and prosperity, moves altogether
out of the fields in which the violation has been committed.—_Dublin
University Magazine_, vol. viii., p. 449.]
Oh! Peggy Bawn was innocent,
And wild as any roe;
Her cheek was like the summer rose,
Her neck was like the snow:
And every eye was in her head
So beautiful and bright,
You’d almost think they’d light her through
Glencarrigy by night.
Among the hills and mountains,
Above her mother’s home,
The long and weary summer day
Young Peggy Blake would roam;
And not a girl in all the town,
From Dhua to Glenlur,
Could wander through the mountain’s heath
Or climb the rocks with her.
The Lammas sun was shinin’ on
The meadows all so brown;
The neighbours gathered far and near
To cut the ripe crops down;
And pleasant was the mornin’,
And dewy was the dawn,
And gay and lightsome-hearted
To the sunny fields they’re gone.
The joke was passing lightly,
And the laugh was loud and free;
There was neither care nor trouble
To disturb their hearty glee;
When, says Peggy, resting in among
The sweet and scented hay,
“I wonder is there one would brave
The Fairy well to-day!”
She looked up with her laughin’ eyes,
So soft at Willy Rhu;
Och murdher! that she didn’t need
His warnin’ kind and true!
But all the boys and girls laughed,
And Willy Rhu looked shy;
God help you, Willy! sure they saw
The throuble in your eye.
“Now, by my faith!” young Connell says—
“I like your notion well—
There’s a power more than gospel
In what crazy gossips tell.”
Oh, my heavy hatred fall upon
Young Connell of Sliabh-Mast!
He took the cruel vengeance
For his scorned love at last.
The jokin’ and the jibin’
And the banterin’ went on,
One girl dared another,
And they all dared Peggy Bawn.
Till, leaping up, away she flew
Down to the hollow green—
Her bright locks, floating in the wind,
Like golden lights were seen.
They saw her at the Fairy-well—
Their laughin’ died away,
They saw her stoop above its brink
With heart as cold as clay.
Oh! mother, mother, never stand
Upon your cabin floor!
You heard the cry that through your heart
Will ring for evermore;
For when she came up from the well,
No one could stand her look:
Her eye was wild—her cheek was pale—
They saw her mind was shook:
And the gaze she cast around her
Was so ghastly and so sad—
“O Christ preserve us!” shouted all,
“Poor Peggy Blake’s gone mad!”
The moon was up—the stars were out,
And shining through the sky,
When young and old stood mourning round
To see their darling die.
Poor Peggy from her death-bed rose—
Her face was pale and cold,
And down about her shoulders hung
The lovely locks of gold.
“All you that’s here this night,” she said,
“Take warnin’ by my fate,
Whoever braves the Fairies’ wrath,
Their sorrow comes too late.”
The tear was startin’ in her eye,
She clasp’d her throbbin’ head,
And when the sun next mornin’ rose
Poor Peggy Bawn was dead.
JAMES TEELING.
THE HAUNTED SPRING.
[It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes for the purpose
of luring mortals into Fairyland; hunters seem to have been particularly
the objects of the lady fairies’ fancies.]
Gaily through the mountain glen
The hunter’s horn did ring,
As the milk-white doe
Escaped his bow,
Down by the haunted spring.
In vain his silver horn he wound,—
’Twas echo answered back;
For neither groom nor baying hound
Were on the hunter’s track
In vain he sought the milk-white doe
That made him stray, and ’scaped his bow;
For, save himself, no living thing
Was by the silent haunted spring.
The purple heath-bells, blooming fair,
Their fragrance round did fling,
As the hunter lay
At close of day,
Down by the haunted spring.
A lady fair, in robe of white,
To greet the hunter came;
She kissed a cup with jewels bright,
And pledged him by his name;
“Oh, lady fair,” the hunter cried,
“Be thou my love, my blooming bride,
A bride that well may grace a king!
Fair lady of the haunted spring.”
In the fountain clear she stoop’d,
And forth she drew a ring;
And that loved Knight
His faith did plight
Down by the haunted spring.
But since that day his chase did stray,
The hunter ne’er was seen,
And legends tell, he now doth dwell
Within the hills so green;[4]
But still the milk-white doe appears,
And wakes the peasants’ evening fears,
While distant bugles faintly ring
Around the lonely haunted spring.
SAMUEL LOVER.
[4] Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-places within
old green hills.
THE ROMANCE OF THE FAIRY CURE.
I.
Nelly Phelan’s child is ailing;
Hour by hour, the babe is failing;
Squeeling, kicking, biting, whining,
To an atomy he’s pining.
II.
Once he was a fine, wee fellow;
Now he’s wrinkled, thin, and yellow.
Playful then he was, and civil;
Now he’s cross-grained, as the devil.
III.
To a wise woman Nell’s walking;
Long time they’re in secret talking;
First she heard all Nell’s description;
Then she wrote out a prescription.
IV.
“Take this cure, although a strange one;
It is needed when they change one;
By it you’ll the fairies bother,
Get your child, and choke the other.
V.
“You must make the fairy speak out,
Ere your child, from them, you take out.
If you follow what’s here written,
You shall find the biter bitten.”
VI.
Cried Nell, “Be sure that I’ll observe it;
If I fail I’ll not deserve it:
I would walk the wide world over,
If my child I could recover.”
VII.
Five hundred egg-shells Nelly chooses
In a pot, the shells she bruises;
In spring water now they’re boiling,
Stirring round the pot she’s toiling.
VIII.
Red-hot now the poker’s ready;
While Nell stirs the pot, so steady:
From the child, in cradle lying,
Nell now hears a strange voice crying—
IX.
“Mammy! Mammy! what’s that boiling?
Why with potstick are you toiling?”
Nell, with fright, to drop was ready,
Yet she answered, cool, and steady—
X.
“Egg-shells, deary! I am brewing,
Cock’s broth for my babe I’m stewing.
When I skim off all the dripping,
Then it will be fit for sipping.”
XI.
“Though five hundred years I’m chewing,
Egg-shells never saw I brewing;
Though five centuries I’m cheating,
Ne’er have I seen cock’s broth eating.”
XII.
Quick the poker Nelly seizes;
To the cradle now she races;
Red-hot down its throat she crams it;
With her might and main she rams it.
XIII.
Gone like lightning is the fairy;
In its stead, there lies her deary—
Her brave boy—her darling Terry,
With his lip and cheek of cherry.
JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.
THE FAIRY NURSE.
Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee,
And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee;
In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping.
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
When mothers languish broken-hearted,
When young wives are from husbands parted,
Ah! little think the keeners lonely,
They weep some time-worn fairy only.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Within our magic halls of brightness,
Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness;
Stolen maidens, queens of fairy—
And kings and chiefs a sluagh shee airy.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,
And as thy mortal mother nearly;
Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,
That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Rest, thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers
Shall flee at the magic Koelshie’s numbers;
In airy bower I’ll watch thy sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
EDWARD WALSH.
THE FAIRY THORN. AN ULSTER BALLAD.
“Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning wheel;
For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep:
Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a highland reel
Around the fairy thorn on the steep.”
At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried,
Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
The fairest of the four, I ween.
They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
Away in milky wavings of the neck and ankle bare;
The merry-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
And the crags in the ghostly air:
And linking hand and hand, and singing as they go,
The maids along the hill-side have ta’en their fearless way
Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.
The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim,
In ruddy kisses sweet to see.
The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,
Oh, never carolled bird like them!
But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze
That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,
And dreamier the gloaming grows.
And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky
When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,
Are hushed the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie
In the flutter of their sudden awe.
For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath,
And from the mountain-ashes and the old whitethorn between,
A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe
And they sink down together on the green.
They sink together silent, and stealing side by side,
They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair,
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
For their shrinking necks again are bare.
Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,
Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound—
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
Like a river in the air, gliding round.
Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,
But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three—
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
By whom they dare not look to see.
They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,
And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws;
They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold,
But they dare not look to see the cause:
For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies
Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes
Or their limbs from the cold ground raise.
Till out of Night the earth has rolled her dewy side,
With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,
The maidens’ trance dissolveth so.
Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
And told their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
They pined away and died within the year and day,
And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.
SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.
THE FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY.
I.
Mournfully, sing mournfully—
“O listen, Ellen, sister dear;
Is there no help at all for me,
But only ceaseless sigh and tear?
Why did not he who left me here,
With stolen hope steal memory?
O listen, Ellen, sister dear,
(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—
I’ll go away to Sleamish hill,
I’ll pluck the fairy hawthorne tree,
And let the spirits work their will;
I care not if for good or ill,
So they but lay the memory
Which all my heart is haunting still!
(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—
The Fairies are a silent race,
And pale as lily flowers to see;
I care not for a blanched face,
Nor wandering in a dreaming place,
So I but banish memory:—
I wish I were with Anna Grace!”
Mournfully, sing mournfully!—
II.
Hearken to my tale of woe—
’Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con,
Her sister said in accents low,
Her only sister, Una bawn:
’Twas in their bed before the dawn,
And Ellen answered sad and slow,—
“Oh Una, Una, be not drawn
(Hearken to my tale of woe)—
To this unholy grief I pray,
Which makes me sick at heart to know,
And I will help you if I may:
—The Fairy Well of Lagnanay—
Lie nearer me, I tremble so,—
Una, I’ve heard wise women say
(Hearken to my tale of woe)—
That if before the dews arise,
True maiden in its icy flow
With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice,
Three lady-brackens pluck likewise,
And three times round the fountain go,
She straight forgets her tears and sighs.”
Hearken to my tale of woe!
III.
All, alas! and well-away!
“Oh, sister Ellen, sister sweet,
Come with me to the hill I pray,
And I will prove that blessed freet!”
They rose with soft and silent feet,
They left their mother where she lay,
Their mother and her care discreet,
(All, alas! and well-away!)
And soon they reached the Fairy Well,
The mountain’s eye, clear, cold, and grey,
Wide open in the dreary fell:
How long they stood ’twere vain to tell,
At last upon the point of day,
Bawn Una bares her bosom’s swell,
(All, alas! and well-away!)
Thrice o’er her shrinking breasts she laves
The gliding glance that will not stay
Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:—
And now the charm three brackens craves,
She plucks them in their fringed array:—
Now round the well her fate she braves,
(All, alas! and well-away!)
IV.
Save us all from Fairy thrall!
Ellen sees her face the rim
Twice and thrice, and that is all—
Fount and hill and maiden swim,
All together melting dim!
“Una! Una!” thou may’st call,
Sister sad! but lith or limb
(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)
Never again of Una bawn
Where now she walks in dreamy hall
Shall eye of mortal look upon!
Oh! can it be the guard was gone,
That better guard than shield or wall?
Who knows on earth save Turlagh Daune?
(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)
Behold the banks are green and bare,
No pit is here wherein to fall:
Aye—at the fount you well may stare,
But nought save pebbles smooth is there,
And small streams twirling one and all.
Hie thee home, and be thy pray’r,
Save us all from Fairy thrall!
SAMUEL FERGUSON, LL.D., M.R.I.A.
THE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN.
I.
He mounted his steed of the water clear,
And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere;
He held his bridle of strings of pearl,
Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl.
II.
He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth,
Soft and dainty as velvet cloth,
And donn’d his mantle of sand so white,
And grasp’d his sword of the coral bright.
III.
And away he gallop’d, a horseman free,
Spurring his steed through the stormy sea,
Clearing the billows with bound and leap—
Away, away, o’er the foaming deep!
IV.
By Scarba’s rock, by Lunga’s shore,
By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar,
With his horse’s hoofs he dash’d the spray,
And on to Loch Buy, away, away!
V.
On to Loch Buy all day he rode,
And reach’d the shore as sunset glow’d,
And stopp’d to hear the sounds of joy
That rose from the hills and glens of Moy.
VI.
The morrow was May, and on the green
They’d lit the fire of Beltan E’en,
And danced around, and piled it high
With peat and heather and pine-tops dry.
VII.
A piper play’d a lightsome reel,
And timed the dance with toe and heel;
While wives look’d on, as lad and lass
Trod it merrily o’er the grass.
VIII.
And Jessie (fickle and fair was she)
Sat with Evan beneath a tree,
And smiled with mingled love and pride,
And half agreed to be his bride.
IX.
The Kelpie gallop’d o’er the green—
He seemed a knight of noble mien,
And old and young stood up to see,
And wonder’d who the knight could be.
X.
His flowing locks were auburn bright,
His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash’d light;
And as he sprang from his good gray steed,
He look’d a gallant youth indeed.
XI.
And Jessie’s fickle heart beat high,
As she caught the stranger’s glancing eye:
And when he smiled, “Ah well,” thought she,
“I wish this knight came courting me!”
XII.
He took two steps towards her seat—
“Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet?”
He took her lily-white hand, and sigh’d,
“Maiden, maiden, be my bride!”
XIII.
And Jessie blush’d, and whisper’d soft—
“Meet me to-night when the moon’s aloft;
I’ve dream’d, fair knight, long time of thee—
I thought thou earnest courting me.”
XIV.
When the moon her yellow horn display’d,
Alone to the trysting went the maid;
When all the stars were shining bright,
Alone to the trysting went the knight.
XV.
“I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well,
Maiden, oh more than words can tell!
Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine;
Maiden, maiden, be thou mine!”
XVI.
“Fair sir, thy suit I’ll ne’er deny—
Though poor my lot, my hopes are high;
I scorn a lover of low degree—
None but a knight shall marry me.”
XVII.
He took her by the hand so white,
And gave her a ring of the gold so bright;
“Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine—
Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!”
XVIII.
He lifted her on his steed of gray,
And they rode till morning away, away—
Over the mountain and over the moor,
And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore.
XIX.
“We have ridden east, we have ridden west—
I’m weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest,
Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea?
Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?”
XX.
“I have no dwelling beyond the sea,
I have no good ship waiting for thee;
Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam,
And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.”
XXI.
The gray steed plunged in the billows clear,
And the maiden’s shrieks were sad to hear.
“Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine—
Maiden, maiden, now thou’rt mine!”
XXII.
Loud the cold sea-blast did blow,
As they sank ’mid the angry waves below—
Down to the rocks where the serpents creep,
Twice five hundred fathoms deep.
XXIII.
At morn a fisherman, sailing by,
Saw her pale corse floating high;
He knew the maid by her yellow hair
And her lily skin so soft and fair.
XXIV.
Under a rock on Scarba’s shore,
Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar,
They dug her a grave by the water clear,
Among the sea-weed salt and sere.
XXV.