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WILLIAM ALLINGHAM 776 The Fames
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!
��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 frogb for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
��High on the hill-top
The old King sits; He is now so old and gray
He 's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys
From Slieveleaguc to Rosses;
�� �
