The Twilight Realm

An album dedicated to the mysticism of fairies.

"Exquisite Celtic music." SONGWRITER'S MONTHLY

In the colorful mythology of the Celts, the faeries were believed to be the gatekeepers to the Other World, who could spirit humans away to a “time out of time.” On The Twilight Realm renowned Irish harpist Áine Minogue takes listeners on a musical journey to that land – the Celtic Otherworld – the place where faeries are real.

W.B. Yeats believed his poetry was inspired by a meeting with the faeries, and Shakespeare deliciously celebrated them in a Midsummer Night’s Dream. Famous Irish musicians of the 20th century such as Mickey Doherty and Neilly Boyle often credited their brilliance compositions to such mystical encounters.

Accompanied by bass, whistle, clarinet, fiddle, and percussion on her Irish harp, Minogue brings what The Guardian calls her “sheer talent as a musician and storyteller” to traditional tunes including Carolan’s Welcome and Án Fainne Ór (The Gold Ring), which are said have been gifted to humans by the “wee folk.” Whether you want to “go off with the faeries” or simply tarry a while in an enchanted interlude, let Áine Minogue transport you to The Twilight Realm.

King of the Faeries 4:31

Music of the otherworld is said to be amazing – these creatures were believed to produce music of superior quality. It’s interesting to note the number of tunes in Irish traditional music that have the word “fairy” in them (e.g. “The Fairy Hornpipe,” “The Fairy Reel,” “The Fairy Queen,” etc.). To me, there’s a sense of procession, of something coming from a distance; you’re allowed to observe for a while, and then it fades away and you’re not sure if you ever saw it at all. One of my top five tunes of all time!

Spirits of the World 3:41

(Spereed Holvedal) This tune is from Brittany, a Celtic region located in the Northwest of France. The song was often played during the consecration of the Mass, and demonstrates the harmonious co-existence of indigenous supernatural lore with religion. Again, it has an ethereal quality. The melody and the way it meanders is highly unusual to my ears. 

The Mermaid 2:21

(An Mhaighdean Mhara) 
This song is from Donegal; one of the few mermaid songs that have come down to us. The mermaid’s daughter (Maire) speaks highly of her mother (who she sorely misses), and the mother answers, expressing her weariness and the fact that she is lonely for her children. This song is somewhat unusual in that it takes place after the mermaid has returned to the sea. In many of the mermaid and selkie stories, the leaving of the land also marks the end of the narrative. In contrast to the complexity of the emotion the mermaid feels, being torn between love for her shore bound children and the magnetic pull of the sea, I love the deceptive simplicity of the melody. 

Carolan's Welcome 2:59

There are numerous references to the fact that Carolan received his gift for composition from the fairies. In fact, his first composition, “Sidh Beag, Sidh Mor,” was written about a battle between two warring fairy groups. Musicians, or in this case composers, were often thought to have been given their gifts by the fairies. Supposedly, the blind composer fell asleep under an apple tree (a tree often considered to be sacred, as an entrance to the otherworld) and when he awoke, he asked to be led home, whereupon he commenced to write some beautiful music. I chose to avoid Carolan’s “Fairy Queen” and “Sidh Beag, Sidh Mor,” which might have been more obvious selections for this particular album, and settled instead on a tune that I consider to be among his most special. Carolan manages to take this key that I consider dark and undesirable, and make it into something beautiful. He takes it one step further in the B section where he truly makes the piece “sing.” 

Deandai, Deandai 2:36

This is a children’s “dandling” song. The idea was that you placed the child on your lap and dandled him or her – sort of like bouncing the child on your knee – the high note is where you throw the child up in the air. It’s meant to reflect the childlike world of the imagination and the otherworld with which children as so well acquainted. 

Gloine An Beoir 1:08

(The Glass of Beer) Musicians were occasionally invited, or more likely cajoled, to celebrations in the otherworld, often for the specific function of playing music. During the 1950’s, Peter Kennedy recorded Neilly Boyle, a famed Dongeal fiddler relaying the story of his encounter with the fairies. He had happy memories of the event. 
[Ed. Note: The harp has long been associated with beer, as the emblem for Guinness was trademarked in 1862, sixty years prior to the rise of the Irish Free State. In fact, the O’Neill clan harp is used on both the Irish coat of arms and on bottles of Guinness, though the Guinness harp faces right and the harp on the coat of arms faces left.]

The Selkie 5:06

Stories about the selkie (a seal who can shed its skin and live on land as a human) are usually associated with Scotland. I know of no selkie stories originating in Ireland. Most of these tales center around the marriage of a selkie to a mortal. Typically, the selkie is a woman who falls in love and marries a mortal man. The man generally takes the seal skin of his wife and hides it so that she cannot return to the sea. As time passes and children are born to the couple, invariably one of the children finds the seal skin and the mother, despite her best efforts, cannot resist the lure of the sea. The coupling generally results in a sad situation for all involved. This song, rather unusually, involves a male selkie, but it is not the selkie who speaks during this song; rather, it is sung by the mortal woman who is pregnant with his child. She laments the day that she will have to return her child to the sea. Again, trying to balance a set of contradictions – lure of the sea, the conflict between the sea and the children – she comes to no neat or systematic resolution.

An Fainne Or 4:10

Musicians of such fame as Junior Crehan (County Clare), Michael Coleman (County Sligo) and Mickey Doherty (County Donegal) all claim to have learned music from the fairies. Songs such as “The Gold Ring” that are difficult and contain numerous variations (this is a seven part jig) were thought to have been given to mortals by the fairies. [Accounts of tunes with up to twenty-seven variations exist.] Speaking of brilliant musicians and composers, I learned this tune from famed harper Michael Rooney of County Monaghan, who was kind enough to share this and many other tunes with me, opening up a whole new world in music for me. 

Aisling 3:17

This tune is based on a tune called “Study in D” that I learned as a student at the Mercy Convent in Tuam, County Galway, from my harp teacher Sr. Eileen Walsh. I’m still trying to assimilate what she taught me. Its almost Victorian-like romanticism put me in mind of some of the19th century depictions of the supernatural world and the romanticized versions of faeries. Yeats, who was around during this time, actually believed he had a fairy encounter. His poetry (e.g. “Song of the Wandering Aengus”) is chock full of mythological allusions. He, along with Lady Gregory, collected hundreds of fairy stories. Scholars are reluctant to mention this side of Yeats’ nature, yet it was a huge driving force behind his creativity. 

Sisceal 2:53

(Fairy Story) Brief translation: “Myself and Maire were on our way to the ‘ceilidh’ when who should we meet but one of the fairies of Chill Sleibh. He and Maire sing their way up the hill, hugging and having a great time. The fairy leads them both to the lois [fort] on the summit of a mountain, beside a loch. They arrived to find an ogbhean [small woman] sitting beside the lake, crying because she had dropped her gold ring into the bottom of the lake. The narrator retrieves the ring for the ogbhean. They arrive back to the fairy fort where there was a wedding feast prepared for them and he married his love.” 

A happy outcome on this one, where the fairies reward the young man by preparing his wedding feast and helping him fulfill his wish. Not all encounters with the otherworld worked out so well. The acts of the fairies are random, much as life is – they’ll give you a feast one day; they might very well deprive you of your sight on another. There’s a childlike, almost amoral quality about them in the old stories. There are no morals to these tales and they remain totally open to self interpretation. This is perhaps why they seemed to co-exist so peacefully with other religions and philosophies. If there is a lesson in any of the old stories, it is the idea that too much contact with the other world often results in dire consequences and staying away from reality for too long rarely has a good result. One must come back to the real world in which we live. 

Rince na Sidhoga 1:40

(Dance of the Faeries) I learned this one from Michelle Mulcahy, an extraordinary young musician from County Limerick. It has a light, childlike 9/8 time, and even though in a minor key, it has an airy feeling to it.

King of the Faeries 6:04

(Unedited Version) 
I sandwiched versions of this tune on either end of the album in order to bring it full circle and create a sense of completion to the journey. If you listen carefully, you can hear snippets of Yeats’ and Shakespeare’s poetry towards the end of the tune. At the very end, there’s a line from the second act of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “And I serve the fairy queen.” A perfect occupation for the King of the Faeries, I would think.

Tim Archibald: Bass
Seamus Egan: Whistle
Tom Hill: Clarinet & Clarinet arrangements
Winifred Horan: Fiddle
Takaaki Masuko: percussion
Áine Minogue: Irish harp, vocals, percussion
Birdcalls on “Enchanted Valley”
appears courtesy of Shanachie Entertainment Group

Studio: AdelMark Studios, Lincoln, MA
Mixed by Mark Wessel at AdelMark Studios, Lincoln, MA
Engineer for harp, fiddle and whistle tracks: Seamus Egan
All other tracking: Mark Wessel
(photo: © James Higgins)
Liner Notes: Thane Tierney
Pre Production: Brian P. Meyers & Aine Minogue
Produced by Aine Minogue
Graphic Design: Greg Gonzales, Creative Vision Design Company
All tracks Traditional, Arranged by Aine Minogue and published by Little Miller Music Company (BMI)

FOR CHILDREN

Our thanks to Lee Regan (Plymouth Public Library, Massachusetts) for sharing this wonderful list with us.

Allingham, William The fairies: a poem
Anderson, Hans Christian Fairy tales
Anderson, Lonzo Two hundred rabbits
Barber, Antonia The enchanter’s daughter
Barker, Cicely Mary The complete book of flower fairies
Barrie, J.M. Peter Pan
Bate, Lucy Little rabbit’s loose tooth
Batt, Tanya Robyn A child’s book of faeries
Bottner, Barbara Pish and Posh
Briggs, Katherine An encyclopedia of fairies
Briggs, Raymond Jim and the beanstalk
Brown, Marc Tolon Arthur tricks the tooth fairy
Butterworth, Nick Amanda’s butterfly
Chardiet, Bernice Martin and the tooth fairy
Clibbon, Meg Imagine you’re a fairy!
Climo, Shirley The Persian Cinderella
Collington, Peter On Christmas Eve
Coombs, Lisa Lisa and the grompet
Demers, Dominique Old Thomas and the little fairy
DiTelizzi, Tony The Spiderwick Chronicles
Doyle, Richard Fairyland: in art and poetry
Edwards, Pamela Elves, fairies and gnomes
Enright, Elizabeth Zeee
Forest, Heather The woman who flummoxed the fairies
Fyleman, Rose A fairy went a-marketing
Gay, Marie-Louise Stella, fairy of the forest
Graham, Bob Jethro Byrd, fairy child
Griffith, Helen Nata
Hague, Kathleen Good night, fairies
Hague, Michael The book of fairy poetry
Hopkins, Lee Bennett Elves, fairies & gnomes: poems
Hundal, Nancy Twilight fairies
Johnson, Paul Little bunny Foo Foo: told and sung by the Good Fairy
Kane, Tracy Fairy houses
Kennedy, Kim Mr. Bumble
Kent, Jack Clotilda
Kimmel, Eric Asher and the capmakers
Krensky, Stephen The youngest fairy godmother ever
Levine, Gail Carson Fairy dust and the quest for the egg
Lowell, Susan Cindy Ellen: a wild western Cinderella
McClinton, Barbara Molly and the magic wishbone
MacDonald, George Little Daylight
MacDonald, Margaret Slop!: a Welsh folk tale
Mayne, William The book of Hob stories
Meadows, Daisy Crystal, the snow fairy
Mills, Lauren The book of little folk: Faery stories and poems
Milford, Susan Willa the wonderful
Morris, Ann The Cinderella rebus book
Myers, Bernice Sidney Rella and the glass sneaker
Myers, Walter Dean The dragon takes a wife
Nesbit, Edith Melisande
Nightingale, Sandy Cider apples
Paxton, Tom The story of the tooth fairy
Perrault, Charles The complete fairytales of Charles Perrault
Pirotta, Saviour The McElderry Book of Grimms’ fairy tales
Pomeranc, Marc The American Wei
Prelutsky, Jack Monday’s troll
Ross, Tony A fairy tale
Sierra, Judy The gift of the crocodile: a Cinderella story
Simmons, Jane The dreamtime fairies
Smith, Lane Pinocchio, the boy
Taylor, Jane Twinkle, twinkle little star: a traditional lullaby
Wells, Rosemary Fritz and the mess fairy
Weninger, Brigitte The elf’s hat
Wetterer, Margaret Patrick and the fairy thief
Wilde, Oscar The fairy tales of Oscar Wilde
Wilder, Laura Ingalls Laura Ingalls Wilder’s fairy poems
Yolen, Jane Child of faerie, child of earth

FAIRY READING LIST FOR ADULTS

The Mermaid

(An Mhaighdean Mhara)

Is cosúil gur mheath tú nó gur thréig tú an greann,
Tá an sneachta go freasach fá bhéal na mbeann,
Do chúl buí dait ‘s do bhéilín sámh
Siúd chugaibh Mary Chionnaith ‘s í ‘ndiaidh an Éirne’ shnámh

A mháithrín dhílis, dúirt Máire Bhán,
Fá bhruach an chladaigh ‘s fá bhéal na trá
Maighdean mhara mo mhaithrín ard,
Siúd chugaibh Mary Chionnaith ‘s í ‘ ndiaidh an Éirne’ shnámh

Tá mise tuirseach and beidh go lá
Mo Mháire bhruinneal ‘s mo Phádraig bán
Ar Bharr na dtonna ‘s fá bheal na trá
Siúd chugaibh Mary Chionnaith ‘s í ‘ ndiaidh an Éirne’ shnámh

Deaindí, Deaindí

Cuirfimid deaindí, deaindí
Cuirfimid deaindí ar Mháire
Cuirfimid deaindí, deaindí
Bróga is stocaí bána

CHORUS:

Hóró damhas is damhas
Is hóró damhas go haerach
Hóró damhas is damhas
Is damhas is damhas a lao dhil

Rachaidh mé siar is siar
Rachaidh mé siar lem stoirín
Rachaidh mé siar is siar
Is fanfaimid thiar ag spórtaíocht

Caithfimid suas is suas é
Caithfimid suas an páiste
Caithfimid suas is suas
Is tiocfa’ sé ‘nuas amárach

Deaindí, Deaindí (PHONICS)

Cur-ah-mead dan-dee, dan-dee
cur-ah-mead dandee er wah-ruh
Cur-ah-mead dan-dee, dan-dee
brogue iss sthuck ee bawn-u ('iss' like "swiss")

CHORUS:

Hoe-rowse douse iss douse (rowse like "'row' your boat")
Hoe-rowse douse guh hair uck (uck like 'duck')
Hoe-rowse douse iss douse (douse like 'house')
Douse iss douse ah-lay-yill (yill like 'dill')

Rock-ah-mead scheer iss scheer
Rock-ah-mead scheer lem stoor-een (lem like 'lemon')
Rock-ah-mead scheer iss shceer (iss)
Fon-ah mead here egg sport-uck (fon like 'on')

Kaah-ah-mead seuss iss seuss (seuss like Dr. Seuss)
Kaah-ah-mead seuss un pawsch-tah
Kaah-ah-mead seuss iss seuss
Iss chiuck-ah shay noose ah-mawr-uck

THE SELKIE

An earthly nourish sits and sings
And ay she sings by lily wean
Little ‘ken I my bairn’s father
Far less the land that he stops in

Chorus
I am a man upon the land
I am a silkie in the sea
And when I’m far and far from land
My dwelling (home) is in Sule Skerrie

It shall come to pass on a summer’s day
As the sun shines hot on every stone
That I shall take my little young son
And teach him for to swim the foam

Chorus
I am a man upon the land
I am a silkie in the sea
And when I’m far and far from land
My dwelling (home) is in Sule Skerrie

“It was not well,” said the maiden fair
“T’was not well, indeed,” said she
That the great Silkie of Sule Skerrie
Should have come and bought a bairn to me

Chorus
I am a man upon the land
I am a silkie in the sea
And when I’m far and far from land
My dwelling (home) is in Sule Skerrie

Siscéal

Mise is Mairin ag dul ar an cheili
O ró grá mo chroí
Ce casadh sa rod linn ach siogaí Chill Shleibhe
Cúach mo londubh buí

Cúach inniu agust cúach amarach
O ró grá mo chroí
Is cúach ag cantain I rith na raite
Cúach mo londubh buí

Thuas ar an sliabh sa lios cois an locha
O ró grá mo chroí
Beidh rince ag siogaí, piobaireacht is siamsa
Cúach mo londubh buí

Chuamar ag triall ann le siogaí
O ró grá mo chroí
Is chonaic muid ogbhean cois locha ‘na haonar
Cúach mo londubh buí

Ar mhullach an tsleibhe ‘na sui cois an locha
O ró grá mo chroí
Bhi an ogbheanag caoineadh no thit fainne ori lei
Go toin an locha sios

Thug me an fainne anios as an locha di
O ró grá mo chroí
‘S bhi bainis duinn reidh sa lios cois an locha
Is phós me grá mo chroí

BOSTON GLOBE

A harpist's Trip To The Other Side
By Scott Alarik, Globe Correspondent, 12/18/2003

One reason this season has a powerful effect on many of us is that it is a time to reconnect with what the ancient Celts called the "otherworld." Irish harpist-singer Aine Minogue has spent her life studying the beliefs from which so much traditional music sprang, how they were used by people in those times, and what use they have to us in our modern lives. Her 1995 CD, "To Warm the Winter's Night" (Evergreen), has become a holiday staple to thousands of folk fans precisely because it makes the ancient moods of midwinter real to us today. Now she has created an equally entrancing CD, "The Twilight Realm," calculated to let us feel that enchanted way any time of year. In studying myths of the otherworld, the domain of the supernatural, she saw that however different they might be, how people used them was strikingly similar.

"The way people used things like fairies and mermaids and selkies was to aid them with symbolic thinking in ways that helped them with their everyday life," she said from her Arlington home. "They told stories about people placed in impossible situations they couldn't balance through the religion or psychologies of the day, which gave them a symbolic way to grapple with life. The stories gave them the ability to get out of their own heads and realities, and to see their lives represented in different ways."

There is something magical about the old melodies created to transport us to the otherworld. They remain the foundation of our Christmas music, a major reason it has such an ability to put us in that meditative place where myth and memory mingle, where pictures of our childhood dance easily with images of sugarplum fairies and fat, jolly elves slipping down chimneys.

Minogue's CD is set in twilight, she said, because that was the time Celts believed the veil between the real world and the otherworld was the thinnest. "I was trying to convey a certain otherworldly feeling," she said, "and picked music I thought would create that. But I avoided things that seemed too heavy, too dark, or too seasonal."

Beyond its dreamlike loveliness, what is remarkable about "The Twilight Realm" is that it is not seasonal at all. Joined by an ambient ensemble that includes Solas founders Seamus Egan and Winifred Horan, Minogue evokes that reflective, otherworldly mood that Christmas music does, but this CD can be played at any time of year.

"The whole recording was meant to be very circular so you would escape into it and then come home to yourself," Minogue said. "I wanted to take music that explored the otherworld and put it together in a way that felt like a journey. It's good just to get out of our own heads for a short time, go somewhere else so we can come back and be in the world a little easier."

MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW

by Suzie Housley

Enter into a world where day and night collide. Where the woods tend to come alive; as the mysteries of the underworld unfold, shadows of the dark will be no more.

The Twilight Realm radiates its own special blend of mystical magic. Through Áine Minogue's skill as a harpist and beautiful lyrical voice this collection of twelve audio traces is a spiritual oasis of peace and tranquility.

Each one of these songs captures the beauty of the Celtic Lore. It will project you to a world where stress and pain does not exist. Instead you will find a place where calmness is readily available. Áine Minogue is an artist who knows how to draw her listener into her music. Every one of her songs tells a story by itself. Anyone who listens to The Twilight Realm will fall in love with her musical talent.

Inspiration

The function of the artist is the mythologization of the environment and the world."
— Joseph Campbell

"I believe we are shifting from an icon / information based culture to a symbol / metaphor based culture. In this new world, I see the task of the true artist as simple: to dream the future and by doing so to keep myth alive.

"We must reconnect with the legacy of the land and renew and engender the promise of symbols and archetypes in the world. When we imbue these intentions in our work, we allow myth to once again serve, inspire and illuminate not only the body and the mind, but also the heart, soul and spirit of humanity.."
-Robert Gould

FAIRY POETRY - CELTIC

The Hosting of the Sidhe

by WB Yeats

The host is riding from Knocknarea

And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;

Caolite tossing his burning hair,

And Niamh calling Away, come away:

 Empty your heart of its mortal dream.

The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,

Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,

Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,

Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;

And if any gaze on our rushing band,

We come between him and the deed of his hand,

We come between him and the hope of his heart.

The host is rushing twixt night and day,

And where is there hope or deed as fair?

Caolite tossing his burning hair,

And Niamh calling Away, come away.


The Magi
by WB Yeats

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones

 Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky

With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,

And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,

Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,

The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.


FAERY SONG

Oran Sidhe
Trans by Shaw

I left in the doorway of the bower

My jewel, the dusky, brown, white-skinned,

Her eye like a star, her lip like a berry,

Her voice like a stringed instrument.
I left yesterday in the meadow of the kind

The brown-haired maid of sweetest kiss,

Her eye like a star, her cheek like a rose,

Her kiss has the taste of pears.

The Stolen Child
by W. B. Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water-rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berries

And of the reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping 

than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping

 than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping 

than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal-chest.

For he comes, the human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

From a world more full of weeping

than he can understand.

QUOTATIONS
W.B. Yeats

Come fairies
Take me out of this dull world,

For I would ride with you

Upon the wind and dance

Upon the mountains like a flame.

SONG OF THE WANDERING AENGUS 


by W. B. Yeats.


I went out to the hazel wood

Because a fire was in my head

And cut an peeled a hazel wand

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing

And moth-like stars were flickering out

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name;

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.


W. B. Yeats

The wind blows out of the gates of the day,

The wind blows over the lonely of heart,

And the lonely of heart is withered away,

While the faeries dance in a place apart,

Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,

Tossing their milk-white arms in the air:

For they hear the wild laugh and murmur and sing

Of a land where even the old are fair,

And even the wise are merry of tongue;

But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,

‘When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,

The lonely of heart is withered away!’

THE HOSTS OF THE FAERY

Translation: Kuno Meyer

Introduction: According to Patrick Logan (The Old Gods – the facts about Irish Fairies), this poem can be found in the Book of Leinster written in the twelfth century. “It describes a party of warriors who went to Magh Mel (Plain of Honey), and of the many names of fairyland, to help the king recover his wife who had been abducted from him. When they had recovered the stolen wife they all decided to remain in fairyland where their leader shares the ruling power with the king.

White shields they carry in their hands,

With emblems of pale silver;

With glittering blue swords,

With mighty stout horns.

In well-devised battle array,

Ahead of their fair chieftain

They march amid blue spears,

Pal-visaged, curly-headed bands.

They scatter the battalions of the foe,

They ravage every land they attack,

Splendidly they march to combat,

A swift distinguished, avenging host!

No wonder though their strength be great:

Songs of queens and kings are one and all;

On their heads are
Golden-yellow manes.

With smooth comely bodies,

With bright blue-starred eyes,

With pure crystal teeth,

With thin red lips.

Good they are at man-slaying,

Melodious in the ale-house,

Masterly at making songs,

Skilled at playing fidchell.r

GENERAL POETRY

MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM 
(SHAKESPERE)

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turn them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation, and a name


ACT V, Scene 1, A Midsummer Night’s Dream 
William Shakespeare

A Fairy Song
by Percy French

Stay, silver ray,

Till the airy way we wing

To the shade of the glade

Where the fairies dance and sing:

 The mortals are asleep – 

They can never understand

That night brings delight, 

It is day in Fairyland

Float, golden note,
From the lute strings all in tune,

Climb, quiv’ring chime,

Up the moonbeams to the moon.

There is music on the river,

There is music on the strand,

Night brings delight,

It is day in Fairyland.

Sing while we swing

From the bluebell’s lofty crest.
Hey! Come and play,

Sleepy songbirds in your nest;

The glow-worm lamps are lit,

Come and join our Elfin band,

Night brings delight,

It is day in Fairyland.’

Roam thro’ the home

Where the little children sleep,

Light in our flight

Where the curly ringlets peep.

Some shining eyes may see us,

But the babies understand,

Night brings delight,
It is day in Fairyland.

I’d Love to be a Fairy’s Child

By Robert Graves (1895–1985) 


CHILDREN born of fairy stock

Never need for shirt or frock,

Never want for food or fire,

Always get their heart’s desire:

Jingle pockets full of gold,
Marry when they’re seven years old.
Every fairy child may keep

Two strong ponies and ten sheep;
All have houses, each his own,

Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild—

I’d love to be a Fairy’s child.

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.

The Elve's Dance


Anon.

Round about, round about,

In a fair ring-a,

Thus we dance, thus we dance,

And thus we sing-a,

Trip and go, to and fro

Over this green-a,

All about, in and out,

For our brave Queen-a.

Invocation to the Fairies


 By F.D. Browne-Hemans


Fays and fairies haste away!

This is Harriet's holiday:

Bring the lyre, and bring the lute,

 Bring the sweetly-breathing flute;

Wreaths of cowslips hither bring,

All the honours of the spring;

Adorn the grot with all that's gai,

Fays and fairies haste away

Bring the vine to Bacchus dear,

Bring the purple lilac here,

Festoons of roses, sweetest flower,

The yellow primrose of the bower,

Blue-ey'd violets wet with dew,

Bring the clustering woodbine too

Bring the baskets made of rush,

The cherry with it's ripen'd blush,

The downy peach, so soft so fair,

The luscious grap, the mellow pear:

These to Harriet hither bring,

And sweetly in return she'll sing

Be the brilliant grotto scene

The palace of the Fairy Queen

Form the sprightly circling dance,

Fairies here your steps advance;

To harp's soft dulcet sound

Let your footsteps lightly bound

Unveil your forms to mortal eye;

Let Harriet view your revelry

Faery Song
By John Keats


Ah ! Woe is me ! poor silver-wing !

That I must chant they lady's dirge,

And death to this fair haunt of spring,

Of melody, and streams of flowery verge --

Poor silver-wing ! ah ! woe is me !

That I must see

These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall !

Go, pretty page ! and in her ear

Whisper that the hour is near !

Softly tell her not to fear

Such calm Favonian burial !

Go, pretty page ! and softly tell --

The blossoms hang by a melting spell,

And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice

Upon her closed eyes,

That now in vain are weeping in their last tears,

At sweet life leaving, and these arbors green --

Rich dowry from the spirit of the spheres

alas ! poor queen !

Green Rain
by Mary Webb

Into the scented woods we'll go,

And see the blackthorn swim in snow.

High above, in the budding leaves,

A brooding dove awakes and grieves;

The glades with mingled music stir,

And wildly laughs the woodpecker.

When blackthorn petals pearl the breeze,

There are the twisted hawthorne trees

Thick-set with buds, as clear and pale

As golden water or green hail--

As if a storm of rain had stood

Enchanted in the thorny wood,

nd, hearing fairy voices call,

Hung poised, forgetting how to fall.

Here We Come A-Piping


Anonymous

Here we come a-piping,

In springtime and in May;

Green fruit a-ripening,

And Winter fled away.

The Queen she sits upon the strand,

Fair as lily, white as wand;

Seven billows on the sea,

Horses riding fast and free,

And bells beyond the sand.

The Fairy Ring

Fairylore and Folklore

'The Twilight Realm' by Thane Tierney

In these days of zeroes and ones, where every decision seems to be reduced to a binary option, the need for myth and the metaphysical is perhaps even more compelling. Advanced as we believe ourselves to be, situations arise that neither fact nor faith seem to explain to our satisfaction; it's little wonder we sometimes tap into a deeper pool of our prehistory.

Musicians from Paganini and Mozart to Robert Johnson and Jimi Hendrix have been characterized as having g fts that seem to come from someplace beyond. Some say they were touched by the hand of God, others believe they made a deal with the Devil, but there is a third option, one which musicians of many backgrounds have cited: they were playing the music of the otherworld.

Artists in all media, verbal, visual or sonic, have a singular connection with the world around them. Scientists would have us believe that it's a right-brain function, and there's physical evidence that the corpus callosum, the bridge between our cerebral hemispheres, is actually larger in musicians than in others. While that sort of factoid seems to approach an explanation as to why musicians are often able to imbue their craft with emotion, it falls short of telling us about their wellspring of inspiration.

No matter their other qualities, artists are dreamers. In poet Jonathan Galassi's words, they "expand our notion of the true." And musicians, in the course of their waking dreams, whether envisioning new music or playing improvisationally, sometimes find themselves transported to a place they might call "the zone" or just "out." In Ireland, someone similarly conveyed would be said to be "gone [or off] with the faeries," a phrase that persists to this day.

The faeries to whom the Irish refer are by no means the beautiful, butterfly-winged and benign Disney-sanitized sprites of our youth. They possess a far more capricious nature and the capacity for both great benevolence and great mischief, much like the Trickster in Native American culture. [Those who have read J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan might recall that Tinker Bell at one point, in a fit of jealousy, tried to have Wendy Darling murdered. Very faerie-like behaviour.]

Faeries were the gatekeepers to the otherworld and were widely known to have an innate aptitude for music making, hence their strong affinity for human musicians. Their compositions were said to be extraordinarily compelling and of a higher standard than those of mere mortals. Some who received a musical gift from the otherworld were extraordinarily protective of it, refusing to play the tunes they learned in public or even mention their source, lest the impulsive otherworld guardians take offense and inflict havoc. Others were more forthcoming, and freely shared the wealth that had been bestowed upon them. In fact, two of the great 20th century fiddlers from County Donegal, Mickey Doherty and Neilly Boyle, routinely and unabashedly credited "the wee folk" for their contributions.

Musicians who visited the otherworld did so, at least to some degree, at their peril. The mythology is rife with stories of those who (much like Kurt Vonnegut's character Billy Pilgrim) got unstuck in time. They were sometimes said to have emerged years later, despite having spent (in a subjective sense) only a few minutes in the company of faeries. While brief visits to the otherworld were acceptable in bygone Irish rural culture, extended forays had serious consequences; "tarrying with the faeries" meant that crops mightn't be planted or harvested on time and other routine obligations might be neglected. So, while the community might be willing to overlook a brief out-of-time interlude, there was always the caveat that the otherworld was to be kept at arm's length, lest one be overwhelmed by its charms.

Not only did music come from the otherworld, but a substantial body of work was written about it. In a tradition that prefigured the magic realism of writers such as Castaneda, Borges and Allende, supernatural lore was common among the Celtic poets and musicians. They inhabited a world where encounters with selkies [sea creatures, most often female, who assume human form by shedding their skin], dryads and other mythic beings, while magical, were not uncommon. These themes are widely distributed through pre-industrial societies all over the world. [In fact, the universal nature of shape-shifter legend is explored in an excellent article by Patrick Harpur in the February 2002 issue of Fortean Times.]

Twilight loomed large in otherworld mythology, as that was the time the faeries came out to play, and it acted as a metaphor for the nexus between this world and the otherworld. In a much broader literary sense, it also represents that nether region between light and dark, sacred and sensual, a time of ambiguity and curious phenomena (such as the so-called green flash, often reported by sailors just as the sun dipped below the horizon). Under the unfolding blanket of darkness, inhibitions were shed and mischief ensued.

In the words of the Italian surrealist playwright Luigi Pirandello, "Whatever is a reality today, whatever you touch and believe in and that seems real for you today, is going to be - like the reality of yesterday - an illusion tomorrow." The otherworld has existed, and persists in its influence, in the hearts and minds -and fingers- of artists since the dawn of our earliest imaginings. So let's not run aground on belief's rocky shores, let's not draw a hard line between the physical and the metaphysical on our journey. Just relax your mind, let the cares of this world fall away like autumn leaves. Enter the twilight realm and allow the music to transport you.

Thane Tierney, October 2003