Читать книгу Elves and Heroes - Donald Alexander Mackenzie - Страница 2

In the knoll that is the greenest,

  And the grey cliff side,

And on the lonely ben-top

  The wee folk bide;

They'll flit among the heather,

  And trip upon the brae—

The wee folk, the green folk, the red folk and grey.

As o'er the moor at midnight

  The wee folk pass,

They whisper 'mong the rushes

  And o'er the green grass;

All through the marshy places

  They glint and pass 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.