The Fairies

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The Fairies

“Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,

We daren’t go a-hunting

For fear of little men.

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping altogether;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl’s feather.

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 day and morrow;

They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow.”

William Allingham