Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/974

 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;

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