Читать книгу Fairy Tales of Ireland - P.J. Lynch - Страница 8

Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water-rats.

There we’ve hid our fairy vats

Full of berries,

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O, human child!

To the woods and waters wild

With a fairy hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than

you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by farthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands, and mingling glances,

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap,

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles.

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away! O, human child!

To the woods and waters wild,

With a fairy hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than

you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,

In pools among the rushes,

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout,

And whispering in their ears;

We give them evil dreams,

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Of dew on the young streams.

Come! O, human child!

To the woods and waters wild,

With a fairy hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than

you can understand.

Away with us, he’s going,

The solemn-eyed;

He’ll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hill-side.

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast;

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the woods and waters wild,

With a fairy hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than

he can understand.