Elves and Heroes | Page 3

dance and shout and turn about,?And laugh and swing and sway--?The droll folk, the knoll folk, the folk that dance alway.
O we that bless the wee folk?Have naught to fear,?And ne'er an elfin arrow?Will come us near;?For they'll give skill in music,?And every wish obey--?The wise folk, the peace folk, the folk that work and play.
They'll hasten here at harvest,?They will shear and bind;?They'll come with elfin music?On a western wind;?All night they'll sit among the sheaves,?Or herd the kine that stray--?The quick folk, the fine folk, the folk that ask no pay.
Betimes they will be spinning?The while we sleep,?They'll clamber down the chimney,?Or through keyholes creep;?And when they come to borrow meal?We'll ne'er them send away--?The good folk, the honest folk, the folk that work alway.
O never wrong the wee folk--?The red folk and green,?Nor name them on the Fridays,?Or at Hallowe'en;?The helpless and unwary then?And bairns they lure away--?The fierce folk, the angry folk, the folk that steal and slay.
BONNACH FALLAIDH.
(THE REMNANT BANNOCK.)
O, the good-wife will be singing?When her meal is all but done--?Now all my bannocks have I baked,?I've baked them all but one;?And I'll dust the board to bake it,?I'll bake it with a spell--?O, it's Finlay's little bannock?For going to the well.
The bannock on the brander?Smells sweet for your desire--?O my crisp ones I will count not?On two sides of the fire;?And not a farl has fallen?Some evil to foretell!--?O it's Finlay's little bannock?For going to the well.
The bread would not be lasting,?'Twould crumble in your hand;?When fairies would be coming here?To turn the meal to sand--?But what will keep them dancing?In their own green dell??O it's Finlay's little bannock?For going to the well.
Now, not a fairy finger?Will do my baking harm--?The little bannock with the hole,?O it will be the charm.?I knead it, I knead it, 'twixt my palms,?And all the bairns I tell--?O it's Finlay's little bannock?For going to the well.
THE BANSHEE.
Knee-deep she waded in the pool--?The Banshee robed in green--?She sang yon song the whole night long,?And washed the linen clean;?The linen that would wrap the dead?She beetled on a stone,?She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,?Low singing all alone--
_His linen robes are pure and white,?For Fergus More must die to-night!_
'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill,?Come back from foreign wars,?His horse's feet were clattering sweet?Below the pitiless stars;?And in his heart he would repeat--?"O never again I'll roam;?All weary is the going forth,?But sweet the coming home!"
_His linen robes are pure and white,?For Fergus More must die to-night!_
He saw the blaze upon his hearth?Come gleaming down the glen;?For he was fain for home again,?And rode before his men--?"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh,?"Since I would leave her side;?I'll never more leave Scotland's shore?And yon, my dark-eyed bride."
_His linen robes are pure and white,?For Fergus More must die to-night!_
So dreaming of her tender love,?Soft tears his eyes would blind--?When up there crept and swiftly leapt?A man who stabbed behind--?"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride,?This night shall be your last!" ...?When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide?Of life came ebbing fast ...
_His linen robes are pure and white,?For Fergus More must die to-night!_
CONN, SON OF THE RED.
The Fians sojourned by the shore?Of comely Cromarty, and o'er?The wooded hill pursued the chase?With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space?Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun?With homage to the rising sun--?Ere to the spirits of the dead?Would sacrificial blood be shed?In yon green grove of Navity--[2]?When Conn came over the Eastern Sea,?His heart aflame with vengeful ire,?To seek for Goll, who slew his sire?When he was seven years old.
Finn saw?In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe?The Red One's son, so fierce and bold,?In combat with his hero old--?The king-like Goll of valorous might--?A stormy billow in the fight?No foe could ere withstand.
He knew?The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew?Clear on his horn the Warning Call;?And round him thronged the Fians all?With wond'ring gaze.
The sun drew nigh?The bale-fires of the western sky,?And faggot clouds with blood-red glare,?Caught flame, and in the radiant air?Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone--?The Fians, as they stared at Conn,?Were stooping on the high Look-Out.?They watched the ship that tacked about,?Now slant across the firth, and now?Laid bare below the cliff's broad brow,?And heaving on a billowy steep,?Like to a monster of the deep?That wallowed, labouring in pain--?And Conn stared back with cold disdain.
Pondering, he sat alone behind?The broad sail swallowing the wind,?As over the hollowing waves that leapt?And snarled with foaming lips, and swept?Around the bows in querulous fray,?And tossed in curves of drenching spray,?The belching ship with ardour drove;?Then like a lordly elk that strove?Amid the hounds and, charging, rent?The pack asunder as it went,?It bore round and in beauty sprang--?The sea-wind through the cordage sang?With high and wintry merriment?That stirred the heart of Conn, intent?On vengeance, and