The Fairies by William Allingham - A poem

The Fairies by William Allingham read by Murray Lachlan Young Up the airy mountain Down the rushy glen, We dare n't go a-hunting, For fear of little men; Wee......

The Fairies by William Allingham - SFF Net

POEM: The Fairies by William Allingham - DLTK's Poems

The Fairies Poem by William Allingham - Poem Hunter

The Fairies by William Allingham is a poem that I read a lot as a child. I found the part about Bridget haunting, mainly because of the illustration used in ......

The Fairies by William Allingham

Quote: Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen, We dar n’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. The Fairies by William Allingham Stat Block: +1 Mobility +1 Awareness -1 Persistence -1 Ability Peer Reviews: Dwarf: “Gnomes are ineffective. How can they work so hard and have so little to show for at the end

The Fairies by William Allingham Michael Hague - AbeBooks
The Fairies by William Allingham is a poem that I read a lot as a child

The Fairies by William Allingham Up the airy mountain, Down ..

The Fairies by William Allingham is a poem that I read a lot as a child. I found the part about Bridget haunting, mainly because of the illustration used in ......

Wolfsschanze: The Fairies by William Allingham

The Fair Folk by William Allingham - An Affliction of Poetry

The Fairies by William Allingham is a poem that I read a lot as a child. I found the part about Bridget haunting, mainly because of the illustration used in my book for Bridget lying deep within the lake on the bed of flag-leaves.

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.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
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!

Read by Jean Aked

Public Domain Poetry - The Fairies by William Allingham

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