The Unicorns of the Lady's Realm
Page 2
The artists of most of
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| THE
FAIRIES (A poem by William Allingham) 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! |
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Delight's Fantasy Art - |
| 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. |
| Hang on
the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and grey 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 light and the morrow, They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. And white owl's feather! |
| They
have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching til she wake. By the craggy hill-side, 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 daren't go a hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap |
| Unicorn And The
White Doe Unicorn with burning heart Breath of love has drawn On his desolate peaks apart At rumour of dawn, Has trumpeted his pride These long years mute, Tossed his horn from side to side, Lunged with his foot. Like a storm of sand has run Breaking his own boundaries, Gone in hiding from the sun Under camphor trees. |
| Straight
was the course he took Across the plain, but here with briar And mire the tangled alleys crook; Baulking desire. A shoulder glinted white - The bough still shakes - A white doe darted out of sight Through the forest brakes. |
| Tall and
close the camphors grow, The grass grows thick- Where you are I do not know, You fly so quick. Where have you fled from me? I pursue, you fade, I hunt, you hide from me In the tangled glade. Often from my hot lair I would watch you drink |
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