I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

An earthly nouris sits and sings and "aye" she sings ba lily we'n "O little ken I my bairn's father, still less the land where he dwells in" Then one arose at her bed feet and a grumly guest I'm sure was he Saying "Here am I, thy bairn's father although I be not comely" "I am a man upon the land I am a silkie in the sea And when I'm far frae every strand my dwelling is in Sule Skerry" "It was na weel" quo' the maiden, fair "It was na weel indeed" quo' she "That the Great Silkie of Sule Skerry should come and aught a bairn to me" Now he has taken a purse of gold and he has put it upon her knee Saying "G'e to me my little young son, and take thee up thy nouris fee" "It shall come to pass on a summer's day when the sun shines hot on every stone That I will take my little young son and teach him for to swim the foam" "And thou shalt marry a gunner guid and a proud gunner I'm sure he'll be And the very first shot that e'er he shoots will kill both my young son and me"

The Irish word for fairy is sheehogue [sidheóg], a diminutive of "shee" in banshee. Fairies are deenee shee [daoine sidhe] (fairy people). Who are they? "Fallen angels who were not good enough to be saved, nor bad enough to be lost," say the peasantry. "The gods of the earth," says the Book of Armagh. "The gods of pagan Ireland," say the Irish antiquarians, "the Tuatha De Danan, who, when no longer worshipped and fed with offerings, dwindled away in the popular imagination, and now are only a few spans high." And they will tell you, in proof, that the names of fairy chiefs are the names of old Danan heroes, and the places where they especially gather together, Danan burying-places, and that the Tuath De Danan used also to be called the slooag-shee (sheagh sidhe) (the fairy host), or Marcra shee (the fairy cavalcade). On the other hand, there is much evidence to prove them fallen angels. Witness the nature of the creatures, their caprice, their way of being good to the good and evil to the evil, having every charm but conscience--consistency. Beings so quickly offended that you must not speak much about them at all, and never call them anything but the "gentry", or else deenee-maha (daoine maithe), which in English means good people, yet so easily pleased, they will do their best to keep misfortune away from you, if you leave a little milk for them on the window-sill over night. On the whole, the popular belief tells us most about them, telling us how they fell, and yet were not lost, because their evil was wholly without malice. Are they "the gods of the earth"? Perhaps! Many poets, and all mystic and occult writers, in all ages and countries, have declared that behind the visible are chains on chains of conscious beings, who are not of heaven but of the earth, who have no inherent form but change according to their whim, or the mind that sees them. You cannot lift your hand without influencing and being influenced by hoards. The visible world is merely their skin. In dreams we go amongst them, and play with them, and combat with them. They are, perhaps, human souls in the crucible--these creatures of whim. Do not think the fairies are always little. Everything is capricious about them, even their size. They seem to take what size or shape pleases them. Their chief occupations are feasting, fighting, and making love, and playing the most beautiful music. They have only one industrious person amongst them, the lepra-caun--the shoemaker. Perhaps they wear their shoes out with dancing. Near the village of Ballisodare is a little woman who lived amongst them seven years. When she came home she had no toes--she had danced them off. They have three great festivals in the year--May Eve, Midsummer Eve, November Eve. On May Eve, every seventh year, they fight all round, but mostly on the "Plain-a-Bawn" (wherever that is), for the harvest, for the best ears of grain belong to them. An old man told me he saw them fight once; they tore the thatch off a house in the midst of it all. Had anyone else been near they would merely have seen a great wind whirling everything into the air as it passed. When the wind makes the straws and leaves whirl as it passes, that is the fairies, and the peasantry take off their hats and say, "God bless them". On Midsummer Eve, when the bonfires are lighted on every hill in honour of St. John, the fairies are at their gayest, and sometimes steal away beautiful mortals to be their brides. On November Eve they are at their gloomiest, for according to the old Gaelic reckoning, this is the first night of winter. This night they dance with the ghosts, and the pooka is abroad, and witches make their spells, and girls set a table with food in the name of the devil, that the fetch of their future lover may come through the window and eat of the food. After November Eve the blackberries are no longer wholesome, for the pooka has spoiled them. When they are angry they paralyse men and cattle with their fairy darts. When they are gay they sing. Many a poor girl has heard them, and pined away and died, for love of that singing. Plenty of the old beautiful tunes of Ireland are only their music, caught up by eavesdroppers. No wise peasant would hum "The Pretty Girl milking the Cow" near a fairy rath, for they are jealous, and do not like to hear their songs on clumsy mortal lips. Carolan, the last of the Irish bards, slept on a rath, and ever after the fairy tunes ran in his head, and made him the great man he was. Do they die? Blake saw a fairy's funeral; but in Ireland we say they are immortal.

As I rode out one evening fair By the verdant braes of Skreen I set my back to a hawthorn tree To view the sun in the west country And the dew on the forest glade A lad I spied by Glenowen's side And a maiden by his knee And he was as dark as the very brown wood And she all whey and wan to see All whey and wan was she "Oh, sit you down on the grass," said he. "On the dewy grass so green For the wee birds all have come and gone Since I my own true love have seen Since I my true love have seen" "Oh then I'll not sit on the grass," said she. "Nor be a love of thine For I hear you have loved a Connaught maid And your heart's no longer mine," said she "And your heart's no longer mine." "Nor I'll not heed what an old man says For his days are nearly done And I'll not heed what a young man says For he's fair to many's the one," said she. "For he's fair to many's the one." "But I will climb a high, high tree And I'll rob a wild bird's nest And back I'll bring what’er I do find To the arms that I love best," said she. "To the arms that I love the best."

Come all ye loyal heroes wherever that you be Don't work for any master till you know what your work will be. For you must rise up early from the clear daylight of dawn, And I know that you'll never be a to plough the Rocks of Bawn. My shoes they are all worn now, my stockings they are thin, My heart is always trembling, afraid that I'll give in. My heart is nearly broken from the clear daylight till dawn, For I know I'll never be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn. O' hear me gallant Sweeny for your fate I do bemoan O' the rain is pelting on your face amongst the rocks and stones Your work is hard and troublesome, though your step is like the fawn but I know that you won't be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn My curse upon you Sweeney, for you have me nearly robbed. You’re sitting by your fireside with your dudgeen in your gob, You’re sitting by your fireside from the clear daylight till dawn, And I know you will never be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn.

Go from my window my love, my dove Go from my window my dear The wind is in the West And the Cookoo’s in his nest And you can’t have a harbouring here. Go from my window my love, my dove Go from my window my dear The weather it is warm, ‘twill never do thee harm But you can’t have a harbouring here. Go from my window my love, my dove Go from my window my dear The wind is blowing high and the ship is lying by You can’t have a harbouring here Go from my window my love, my dove Go from my window my dear The window and the rain have brought him back again But he can’t have a harbouring here Go from my window my love, my dove Go from my window my dear The devil’s in the man that he will not understand He can’t have a harbouring here

There is a ship, and she sails the sea She’s loaded deep, as deep can be. But not as deep as the love I’m in. I know not how I sink or swim. The water is wide I cannot cross o’er. And neither have I wings to fly. Give me a boat that can carry two. And both shall row my love and I. I leaned my back up against an oak. Thinking it was a trusty tree. But first it swayed, and then it broke. And so did my true love to me. O, love is handsome, and love is fine. Bright as a jewel when first it’s new. But love grows old and waxes cold. And fades away like the morning dew.

"Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits."

I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses And the voice I hear, falling on my ear The Son of God discloses Chorus And He walks with me, and He talks with me And He tells me I am His own And the joy we share as we tarry there None other has ever known He speaks, and the sound of His voice Is so sweet the birds hush their singing And the melody that He gave to me With in my heart is ringing. Chorus I'd stay in the garden with Him tho' night around me be falling But He bids me go; Thro' the voice of woe His voice to me is calling

I will draw thorns from your feet. We will walk the White Path of Life together. Like a brother of my own blood, I will love you. I will wipe tears from your eyes. When you are sad, I will put your aching heart to rest.

I have seen so many things I have been so many places Take me back Take me where I've never been before Take my heart, shape my soul Call it anything you want but keep me to our goal Now that I have found you I will never let you go Take me to the higher limits Show me everything you know Take my heart. shape my soul Call it anything you want but keep me to our goal Stones on the ground - I am a rock Flowers in the field - I am the grass Let me take you where you've never been before Stones on the ground - I am a rock

Colour me By the river and the water of the deep blue sea It’s just me Breaking down the walls upon the shifting sand Chorus: Something has begun This dream won’t come undone Crumbling grey clad city walls Hide our ancient lore This treasure we have won Colour me Painting with a memory that used to be It’s just me Echoing the music of a distant land MEMORY - MEMORY - MEMORY - MEMORY - COLOURS ME

Silent love says so much more than fiery songs can ever sing Deep thoughts reach out to explore and find the hidden spring I look into my soul and spread enfolding feeling wings on high my woman's hear will soar moving slowly with the winds And the world will roll along with a spirit and a power bringing words to love song to bind our hearts in one Oh, love and freedom you are ever lovely things we live and die for freedom to hear love's spirit sing

If in my eyes you see love it is there for you in the thought that flies Breathing new life into my dreams love awakened when I looked into your eyes. I have climbed high over many mountain peaks to find the treasure that in your eyes I see Chorus: Precious love, sweet darling, dance with me forever we will never drift apart Enfold me now my destiny this embrace will always be my sanctuary, my sacred place, my peace This is true love, I have no fear Now I am anchored in the music of your heart Chorus: Enfold me now my destiny this embrace will always be my sanctuary, my sacred place, my peace Precious love, sweet darling dance with me forever we will never drift apart