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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS |
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" Sound the horn ! Behold, the Sun is beginning to
rise. Whoso seeth him set, ours is the victor's prize, When the foam along the sand shall no longer be
white but red — Spoils and a mighty feast for the Living, a cam for
the Dead." |
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THE FAIRIES a child's song
U
P 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 !
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 gray,
He's nigh lost his wits. |
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