e lonely mountains
By the red deer hind;
Not one will wait to greet me,
For they have naught to say--
The hill folk, the still folk, the folk that flit away.

When the golden moon is glinting
In the deep, dim wood,
There's a fairy piper playing
To the elfin brood;
They dance and shout and turn about,
And laugh and swing and sway--
The droll folk, the knoll folk, the folk that dance alway.

O we that bless the wee folk
Have naught to fear,
And ne'er an elfin arrow
Will come us near;
For they'll give skill in music,
And every wish obey--
The wise folk, the peace folk, the folk that work and play.

They'll hasten here at harvest,
They will shear and bind;
They'll come with elfin music
On a western wind;
All night they'll sit among the sheaves,
Or herd the kine that stray--
The quick folk, the fine folk, the folk that ask no pay.

Betimes they will be spinning
The while we sleep,
They'll clamber down the chimney,
Or through keyholes creep;
And when they come to borrow meal
We'll ne'er them send away--
The good folk, the honest folk, the folk that work alway.

O never wrong the wee folk--
The red folk and green,
Nor name them on the Fridays,
Or at Hallowe'en;
The helpless and unwary then
And bairns they lure away--
The fierce folk, the angry folk, the folk that steal and slay.

BONNACH FALLAIDH.

(THE REMNANT BANNOCK.)

O, the good-wife will be singing
When her meal is all but done--
Now all my bannocks have I baked,
I've baked them all but one;
And I'll dust the board to bake it,
I'll bake it with a spell--
O, it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.

The bannock on the brander
Smells sweet for your desire--
O my crisp ones I will count not
On two sides of the fire;
And not a farl has fallen
Some evil to foretell!--
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.

The bread would not be lasting,
'Twould crumble in your hand;
When fairies would be coming here
To turn the meal to sand--
But what will keep them dancing
In their own green dell?
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.

Now, not a fairy finger
Will do my baking harm--
The little bannock with the hole,
O it will be the charm.
I knead it, I knead it, 'twixt my palms,
And all the bairns I tell--
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.

THE BANSHEE.

Knee-deep she waded in the pool--
The B