Elves and Heroes | Page 3

away--
The light folk, the lone folk, the
folk that will not stay.
O many a fairy milkmaid
With the one eye blind,
Is 'mid the lonely
mountains
By the red deer hind;
Not one will wait to greet me,

For they have naught to say--
The hill folk, the still folk, the folk that
flit away.
When the golden moon is glinting
In the deep, dim wood,
There's a
fairy piper playing
To the elfin brood;
They 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