And if we believe what we hear,
She got her desire:
"Grow like the rushes,
Wither like the fern,
Grey in your childhood,
Fading in the flower of your strength;
But I pray not that you may have no son in your place.
I am a sprite of sorrow.
That dwelt in the meadow-land;
I raised a big house on the Foich,
And it has made a pain in my body.
I will pour out my heart's blood
On Sgurr Finisgeig up there,
On three rushy hillocks.
And they will be red till the day of doom."
And she leapt in a green flame
Over the shoulder of the crag.
Mr. Craigie appends the following note:
"The Glaistig is apparently a land-fairy, as I gather from the epithet Lianachain (which seems to be a diminutive of Lian, "a field"; but may here be a local name), and from her speaking of living in the hillocks. The name Siren, however (Suire in Gaelic), would indicate a sea-nymph."
I have also to thank Mr. Craigie for the following verses of folk-lore:—
1.
Oidhch' an Fhéill' Bride
Thu'irt an nathair anns an tóm,
"Cha bhean mi ri Clann Iomhair
Mur bean Clann Iomhair rium."
On the night of St. Bridget's day
Said the adder in the knoll,
"I'll not meddle with Clan Ivar,
If they meddle not with me."
