 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
129
FAIRY HORSES.
Little Tessie is dreaming still,
Sitting and singing the self-same song;
The ploughman's coming home from the hill,
The evening shades are long.
Sitting and singing the self-same song;
The ploughman's coming home from the hill,
The evening shades are long.
Little Tessie has no fear
Of lonely fields or lengthening shade,
Crooning low in Boholaun's ear
The pretty song she made.
Of lonely fields or lengthening shade,
Crooning low in Boholaun's ear
The pretty song she made.
Eyes and hair like a gipsy child,
Heavy lids with a fringe like fur,
The fairies took Shawn Carmody's child
And in its stead left her.
Heavy lids with a fringe like fur,
The fairies took Shawn Carmody's child
And in its stead left her.
Russet head to russet weed,
Tessie's laughing so sweet and low;
She hears below the weed and seed
The fairy horses go;
Tessie's laughing so sweet and low;
She hears below the weed and seed
The fairy horses go;
130
Prance, and dance, and champ, and neigh,
Keeping time to her pretty song;
They stand in golden stalls all day,
They travel all night long.
Keeping time to her pretty song;
They stand in golden stalls all day,
They travel all night long.
If you came at mirk midnight
Here, where Boholaun stands alone,
You should find a steed of might
And yellow Boholaun gone.
Here, where Boholaun stands alone,
You should find a steed of might
And yellow Boholaun gone.
You should find a steed of might
Here, where Boholaun fronts the wind,
Soft as silk and milky-white,
His grey eyes wise and kind.
Here, where Boholaun fronts the wind,
Soft as silk and milky-white,
His grey eyes wise and kind.
Kate Carmody stands at her cottage door,
Large she is, and fair and mild,
Gazing the glooming pastures o'er,
To find her fairy child.
Large she is, and fair and mild,
Gazing the glooming pastures o'er,
To find her fairy child.
Tessie heeds not cry or call;
A fairy ring is on the grass;
Over that circle mystical
The cattle dare not pass.
A fairy ring is on the grass;
Over that circle mystical
The cattle dare not pass.
Little Tessie has no fear.
The rooks fly home: she will not stir;
Crooning low in Boholaun's ear
The song he loves from her.
The rooks fly home: she will not stir;
Crooning low in Boholaun's ear
The song he loves from her.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |