The Fairies At Darle's Realm Welcome You!








          The Stolen Child 
          Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild ...
With a fairy, hand in hand.
For the world is more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

When the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light ...
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Til' the moon has taken flight ...

(By William Butler Yeats)



          The Fairies

          Up the airy mountain,
          Down the rushy glen,
          We daren't go a-hunting
          For fear of little men;
          Wee folk, good folk,
          Trooping all together;
          Green jacket, red cap,
          And white owl's feather!

          Down along the rocky shore
          Some make their home,
          They live on crispy pancakes
          Of yellow tide-foam;
          Some in the reeds
          Of the black mountain-lake,
          With frogs for their watch-dogs,
          All night awake.

          High on the hill-top
          The old King sits;
          He is now so old and gray
          He's nigh lost his wits.

          With a bridge of white mist
          Columbkill he crosses
          On his stately journeys
          From Slieveleague to Rosses;
          Or going up with music
          On cold starry nights,
          To sup with the Queen
          Of the gay Northern Lights.

          They stole little Bridget
          For seven years long;
          When she came down again
          Her friends were all gone.
          They took her lightly back,
          Between the night and morrow,

          They thought that she was fast asleep,
          But she was dead with sorrow.
          They have kept her ever since
          Deep within the lake,
          On a bed of flag-leaves,
          Watching till she wake.

          By the craggy hill-side,
          Through the mosses bare,
          They have planted thorn-trees
          For pleasure here and there.
          Is any man so daring
          As to dig one up in spite,
          He shall find the thornies set
          In his bed at night.

          Up the airy mountain,
          Down the rushy glen,
          We daren't go a-hunting
          For fear of little men;
          Wee folk, good folk,
          Trooping all together;
          Green jacket, red cap,
          And white owl's feather!

          ~by William Allingham






          The Fairy Child
          From the low white walls and the church's steeple
          From our little fields under grass or grain,
          I'm gone away to the fairy people
          I shall not come to the town again.

          You may see a girl with my face and tresses,
          You may see one come to my mother's door
          Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses.
          She will not be I, for I come no more.

          I am gone, gone far, with the fairies roaming,
          You may ask of me where the herons are
          In the open marsh when the snipe are homing,
          Or when no moon lights nor a single star.
          On stormy nights when the streams are foaming
          And a hint may come of my haunts afar,
          With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,
          But I come no more to Ballynar.

          Ask Father Ryan to read no verses
          To call me back, for I am this day
          From blessings far, and beyond curses.
          No heaven shines where we ride away.

          At speed unthought of in all your stables,
          With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,
          With the queens that reigned in the olden fables
          And kings that won what a sword can win.
          You may hear us streaming above your gables
          On nights as still as a planet's spin;
          But never stir from your chairs and tables
          To call my name. I shall not come in.

          For I am gone to the fairy people.
          Make the most of that other child
          Who prays with you by the village steeple
          I am gone away to the woods and wild.

          I am gone away to the open spaces,
          And whither riding no man may tell;
          But I shall look upon all your faces
          No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell.

          ~by Lord Dunsanay





          The Fairies

          The fairies have never a penny to spend,
          They haven't a thing put by,
          But theirs is the dower of bird and flower
          And theirs is the earth and sky.
          And though you should live in a palace of gold
          Or sleep in a dried up ditch,
          You could never be as poor as the fairies are,
          And never as rich.

          Since ever and ever the world began
          They danced like a ribbon of flame,
          They have sung their song through the centries long
          And yet it is never the same.
          And though you be foolish or though you be wise,
          With hair of silver or gold,
          You can never be as young as the fairies are,
          And never as old.

          ~by Rose Fyleman
          taken from The Book of Fairies







          A Faery Song


          Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania,
          In their bridal sleep under a cromlech

          We who are old, old and gay,
          O so old!
          Thousands of years, thousands of years,
          If all were told:

          Give to these children, new from the world,
          Silence and love;
          And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
          And the stars above:

          Give to these children, new from the world,
          Rest far from men
          Is anything better, anything better?
          Tell us it then;

          We who are old, old and gay,
          O so old!
          Thousands of years, thousands of years,
          If all were told.

          ~by W. B. Yeats










          I Believe In Fairies
          So I Am Clicking Here To See More...








          Page background and graphics copyright ©2005 by darle