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While here and there,
And everywhere,
The gentle folk
Are well bespoke,
And room is left for them to ride
In safety on the gleaming tide.
And then a puff
Of wind comes by,
“Oie-vie, oie-vie!” the fairies cry.
And all around the sea is bare,
And not a boat is anywhere!
And that’s the time the men would find
Good luck with all the nets they cast,
And rowing slow with loaded store,
Be home before the night was past.
But other times the fish was scarce,
And some would stay and some would go,
About the Sloc or further out
Or back to sleeping Dalby, row.
And sometimes only one alone
Would drift along the shadowy land,
And in the darkness quake to hear
The Babe at Earey-Cushlin strand.
