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 Banshee robed in green--
She sang yon song the whole night long,
And washed the linen clean;
The linen that would wrap the dead
She beetled on a stone,
She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,
Low singing all alone--