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By the fern brake,deep and shady.
There I met an elfen lady.
Dressed in coweb silk and flowers,
There she whiled away the hours,
Waiting until dark,

On the soft green moss beside her,
Lay a baby wrapped in eider.
Skin so fair and hair like midnight,
The lady watched the coming twilight,
Waiting till 'twas dark.

Silently, I sat beside her,
Hoping for some words to gather
In my numb and startled mind.
Said the lady,"You're most kind
to wait with me till dark."

"Are you lost?" I asked lady.
"Is this your home, this fern brake shady?
Will others come by star and moon?"
She only smiled, began to croon
To the elfin child.

The baby slept. The lady told me
Deep magic of the Earth and Sea.
Spells she whispered, strong and old.
"Use them well," she said."Be bold
When spelling in the night."

"Can I work these?" The lady smiled,
Gathered up her sleeping child.
"Oh yes," she answered, "'tis a boon
For waiting with me till the Moon
Slips up the sky."

Thinking deep,I sat beside her,
Keeping watch. I heard the rider
Coming through the fern brake shady.
"Are you there, my lovely lady?"
Called an elfin voice.

An elfin lord, his clothes all viney
Armed with sword and dagger shiny,
Rode his horse into the fern brake.
Then my heart began to quake
On seeing his dark eyes.

Twilight gathered; birds were still
The Moon came up above the hill.
Suddenly I felt alone.
"Have no fear, for you have sown
Good friendship."

The lady smiled and raised her hand.
Upon her brow a shining band
Glistened by the light of Moon.
"Would you too give forth a boon?"
She asked her lord

"For here is friend, a watcher bold."
But they are enemies of old,"
The elf lord answered.
"No," she said,

"But gaurded us in this fern bed"
He smiled.

"So there are some who wish us well."
His voice was like a distant bell.
A ring he took from off his hand.
"This will tune you to the land
and magic."

Its stone was pale, just like the Moon.
The air was filled with eldretch tune,
As they mounted, lord and lady,
Rode off through the fern brake shady.
I stood alone.

People say elves are not there.
But I have heard their voices fair.
When I sit down in the brake.
Magic spells I've learned to make
All from the lady.

Elf lord's ring is on my hand
To help with magic from the land.
Sometimes I talk with lord and lady
In the fern brake, deep and shady,
Secretly.

Is there magic? For me 'tis so.
For when the sun is sinking low,
I feel Earth's power within my heart
And know that I shall never part
From the lord and lady.

 

DJ Conway

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I have a thousand men," said he,
"To wait upon my will;
And towers nine upon the Tyne,
And three upon the Till."

"And what care I for your men? " said she,
"Or towers from Tyne to Till?
Sith you must go with me," said she,
"To wait upon my will.

And you may lead a thousand men
Nor ever draw the rein,
But before you lead the Fairy Queen
'Twill burst your heart in twain."

He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar,
The bridle from his hand,
And he is bound by hand and foot
To the Queen of Fairy Land.

by

Rudyard Kipling

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If you see a fairy ring

In a field of grass,

Very lightly step around,

Tip-Toe as you pass,

Last night Fairies frolicked there

And they're sleeping somewhere near.

If you see a tiny fairy

Lying fast asleep

Shut your eyes

And run away,

Do not stay to peek!

Do not tell

Or you'll break a fairy spell

Author Unknown

The Fairies

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Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,

We darent go a-hunting

For fear of little men;

Wee folk, good folk;

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap;

And white owls 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 hilltop

The old king sits;

He is now so old and grey

Hes 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 lakes,

On a bead of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wakes.

 

By the craggy hillside,

Through the mosses bare,

They have planted thorn-trees

For pleasure here and there.

Is 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 darent go a-hunting

For fear of little men;

Wee folk, good folk;

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap;

And white owls feather!

 

William Allingham

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