A hónap verse 2012. november - William Alingham: The Fairies

A borongós, ködös novembert megszépíti egy tündéres, manós vers.

The Fairies
by
William Allingham

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We dare n'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 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 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 night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
Watching till 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 the thornies set
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain

Down the rushy glen,
We dare n'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.

William Allingham ír költő, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Thomas Carlyle, Alfred Lord Tennyson barátja volt. Első verseskötete 1850-ben jelent meg Poems címmel, amelyet Leigh Huntnak ajánlott. 1870-ben Londonba költözött, ahol  egy irodalmi lap, a Frazer Magazin szerkesztője lett.  Bár  számos verset írt, mégis a  Fairies az, amire mindenki emlékszik.

A veset itt hallgathatjuk meg  Murray Lachlan Young előadásában:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EADkQqVu3Q4