Irish Songs and Poems By William Allingham: Second Edition: With Nine Airs for Voice and Pianoforte, and a Permanent Photograph of the Waterfall of Asaroe |
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 | Irish Songs and Poems |  |
V.
Fled from Britain's, Alba's, coast,
Erin holds the Fairy Host.
Unless what some report be truth
That further, flock by flock they flee
To Tir-na-n'Oge, the Land of Youth,
Amid its undiscover'd sea,
The Blissful Island, out of ken
Of sad or angry eyes of men.
Yet awhile, O Gentle Race,
Linger in your ancient place,
Take not from us (poor are we)
Like autumn leaves or sunset clouds
Our elfin gold of phantasie!
Erin holds the Fairy Host.
Unless what some report be truth
That further, flock by flock they flee
To Tir-na-n'Oge, the Land of Youth,
Amid its undiscover'd sea,
The Blissful Island, out of ken
Of sad or angry eyes of men.
Yet awhile, O Gentle Race,
Linger in your ancient place,
Take not from us (poor are we)
Like autumn leaves or sunset clouds
Our elfin gold of phantasie!
As yet they are not gone. In crowds
They troop to Fairy Hill to-night,
The Wedding Night,—Elf and Sprite,
Merrows from their swaying Deep,
Dwarfs that out of crannies creep,
Cunning Lepracauns a few,
Countless Fays, the tricksy crew,
White Witches, none of bale,
Nor the bodeful Banshee's wail,
Nor the Pooka, from his cave
Galloping over land and wave
Like a storm at black midnight,
His flaming eyes the only light.
No, no, these away!
Hither, every friendly Fay!
From meadow-rings, from lakes and springs,
Craggy mountains, river fountains,
From the air, and from the fire,
Thronging in with one desire,
Those that haunt the kindly hearth,
And all that bring good luck and mirth.
They troop to Fairy Hill to-night,
The Wedding Night,—Elf and Sprite,
Merrows from their swaying Deep,
Dwarfs that out of crannies creep,
Cunning Lepracauns a few,
Countless Fays, the tricksy crew,
White Witches, none of bale,
Nor the bodeful Banshee's wail,
Nor the Pooka, from his cave
Galloping over land and wave
Like a storm at black midnight,
His flaming eyes the only light.
No, no, these away!
Hither, every friendly Fay!
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Craggy mountains, river fountains,
From the air, and from the fire,
Thronging in with one desire,
Those that haunt the kindly hearth,
And all that bring good luck and mirth.
Lo now, the Moon!—and who are seen
Flying hither? King and Queen!
They come, with growing music. Elves,
To your places, range yourselves!
The Full Moon shines, the Sea is still,
The Fairies dance on Fairy Hill,
Singing, weaving happy charms.
The Bride is in the Bridegroom's arms.
Flying hither? King and Queen!
They come, with growing music. Elves,
To your places, range yourselves!
The Full Moon shines, the Sea is still,
The Fairies dance on Fairy Hill,
Singing, weaving happy charms.
The Bride is in the Bridegroom's arms.
| Irish Songs and Poems | |