By moonshine do the _green sour_ ringlets make,
Whereof the _ewe not bites_, and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms----."


The following story is well known in Carmarthenshire:--A farmer going
out one morning very early to fetch his horses from pasture, heard
some delicious music, far sweeter he thought (no doubt) than ever bard
produced from his _telyn_ (harp); and being allured by it, as we
read of men being allured of old by the enchanting voices of Sirens,
he proceeded to the place whence the strains seemed to issue, and in a
sequestered retreat beheld the elves footing it merrily. Wishing perhaps
to obtain more extensive knowledge of these "dear little creatures," he
had the magnanimity to enter the ring, with the intention of joining
their matachin, and soon had his desire gratified, for there they kept
him, dancing away, night and day, without intermission. His relatives
at home were at a loss to know what had become of him, and immediately
concluded that he had terminated his existence, or had gone on a
journey; but days, weeks, and months rolled on, and no farmer appeared,
nor were any tidings heard respecting him, until it chanced one day that
a man passing by the lonely spot, saw him knocking his legs about as if
he was bereft of his reason; and going up to him, inquired what caused
him to be so merry, which broke the spell; and the farmer, as if waking
out of a dream, exclaimed, "O dear! where are my horses?" and stepping
out of the magical circle, fell down, and mingled his dust with the
earth: no wonder, for he had been dancing without nourishment or food
for more than a twelvemonth. If every fair dancer joined the Tylwyth
teg's dance, how many beings would be danced out of the world?

This is credited, he informs me, in some parts of North Wales, at the