THE FAIRIES.
The fairies, the fairies, the mischief-loving fairies.
Have stolen my loved one, my darling, and my dear;
With charms and enchantments they lured and waylaid him.
So my love cannot comfort and my presence cannot cheer.
The fairies, the fairies, I'll love no more the fairies;
I'll never sweep the hearth for them or care the fairy thorn,
I'll skim no more the yellow cream nor leave the perfumed honey;
But I'll drive the goats for pasture to their greenest rath each morn.
With Ave, and Ave, and many a Paternoster,
Within their magic circle I'll tell my beads for you;
My prayers be sharp as arrows to pierce their soulless bosoms
Till they come with loud sorrow to tell me that they rue.
