THE LITTLE FOOTPRINTSClose to the Niarbyl, the great tail of rock that stretches into the sea at Dalby, is a little house on the strand. It is sheltered behind by the high rock which rises above its thatched roof. Before it lies Bay Mooar, the great bay, held by a chain of mountains purple with ling. Standing before its door and looking to the west, you may see the sun set behind the distant Mourne Mountains. At dawn you may see him rise over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. Here lived Juan, the fisherman.He knew, as well as any person, that the Little People were all around. When he was a boy he had many a time looked out of the door on moonlight nights to try if he could put sight on them dancingon the lonely shore. He had not seen them—they make themselves invisible when they know that mortal eyes are on them. But he had seen the tiny riding lights of their herring fleet in the bay, and had helped his father to draw in the nets full of good fish, which were sure to be caught the night after. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in the dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great breakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. He knew it was the Little People hammering at their herring barrels in Ooig-ny-Seyir, the Coopers’ Cave, under the hills, and that as the chips flew out on to the waves they became ships.He had heard the story of the fisherman, a friend of his father’s, who was fishing one night at Lag-ny-Keilley, when a dense grey mist rolled in. He thought he had best make for home while the footpath above the rocks was visible. When he was getting his things together he heard what sounded like a lot of children coming out of school. He lifted his head, and, behold, there was afleet of fairy boats each side of the rock, their riding lights shining like little stars on a frosty night. The crews seemed busy preparing to come on shore, and he heard one little fellow shout:‘Hraaghyn boght as earish broigh, skeddan dy liooar ec yn mooinjer seihll shoh, cha nel veg ain!’Poor times and dirty weather, herring enough at the people of this world, nothing at us!‘Then,’ said the fisherman, ‘they dropped off and went agate o’ the flitters.’When Juan was a big boy he himself saw a thing which he never forgot. One day he left a boat over at the farther side of Bay Mooar, and at night he had to go over to fetch it. It was a moonlight night and the bay was as smooth as glass as he rowed across. There was no sound but the lapping of the little waves on the shore, and now and again the cry of a gannet. Juan found his boat on the strand where he had left her and was setting to work to launch her, when he thought he saw a glimmeringlight, which was not the light of the moon, in one of the caves near him. He stood where he was, and listened, and he heard the sound of faint music. Then he went as silently as he was able to the cave, and looked in. No light was there but the dim light of the moon. The shadows in the corners of the cave were as black as pitch.Juan was trembling all over, and at first he was blinking his eyes and could see nothing. But after some minutes he saw a great stone in the midst of the cave and the floor of fine white sand. And on the sand around that stone there were little footprints—marks of tiny clogs they were, no bigger than his thumb!THE TALL MAN OF BALLACURRYTom Craine was going home at midnight from Bradda mine to his home at Colby. The road was lonely and he met no person, but the full moon was shining and it was as light as day. As he began to pass under the trees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared suddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his heels. He whistled to it, but as he turned his head to look at it, it ran on in front of him, and for a minute he did not see it. When he came in sight of it again, he was terrified to see that it had grown larger—as big as a goat—and it grew bigger and bigger till it was the size of a donkey! It galloped before him and disappeared round the bend of the road where the gate of Ballacurry is. WhenTom came to the gate he saw a very tall, thin man leaning on it, with his arms folded on the top of it. The beast was not there. As Tom reached the gate the tall thin man turned and walked up the long path that leads to the house. When he got to the door he turned again and walked back down the path towards Tom. By the bright moonlight Tom saw the lace ruffle round his neck, the satin of his knee breeches, the silk of his stockings, and the shining buckles on his shoes—the dress of bygone days. His face was white and dreadful. As Tom looked he was all at once taken with terror, and ran off as hard as he could go down the road to Colby.He had not gone far when he met two of his friends, Ben Mylechreest and Bill Teare. He told them what he had seen, and they made fun of him and would not believe that he had seen any such thing. They said they would go back with him to the gate, so they all three turned back. When they got to the gate they saw the big man, as tall as two men, walking up thepath with his back towards them. As before, when he reached the door, he turned—what they saw they never told any man!They took to their heels, all three, and ran till they could run no longer. They were trembling from head to foot and the sweat pouring from them. They were too terrified to go home, so they turned in with Tom and they slept, all three, in one bed.NED QUAYLE’S STORY OF THE FAIRY PIGWhen I was a little boy, we lived over by Sloc. One day, when I was six years old, my mother and my grandmother went up the mountain to make hay and I was left by myself. It was getting rather late, and they had not come back, so I was frightened, and started off up the mountain to try and find them. I had not gone far when I saw running before me a little snow-white pig. At first I thought it was some neighbour’s pig and I tried to catch it, but it ran from me and I ran after it. As it went I saw that it was not like an ordinary pig—its tail was feathery and spread out like a fan, and it had long lapping ears that swept the ling. Now and again it turned its head and lookedat me, and its eyes were burning like fire. We went higher and higher up the mountain, and all of a sudden I found myself at the edge of a steep brow and was all but over. I turned just in time, and ran as hard as I could go down the mountain and the pig after me. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that it was jumping over the big stones and rocks on the mountain side as if they had been butts of ling. I thought it would catch me; it was close behind me when I ran in at our garden gate, but I was just in time, and I slammed the door upon it.I told my mother and my grandmother what had happened, and my grandmother said it was a Fairy Pig. I was not like myself that night; I could not eat any supper, and I went soon to my bed; I could not sleep, but lay tossing about; and was burning hot. After a time my mother opened the door to see if I was asleep, and when she looked at me, HER EYES WERE LIKE THE PIG’S EYES. I felt a sharp pain go through my right leg like a stab. Afterthat the pain never left me; it was so bad that I could not bear to be touched, and I could eat nothing. I grew worse and worse, and after some days my father said he would take me to a Charmer at Castletown. They lifted me in the sheet, four men taking the four corners, and carried me to a cart. Never will I forget the shaking and jolting I had in that cart. When we got to Castletown I was more dead than alive.The Charmer lived in Arbory Street and they took me to his house. When he saw me he said that they must all go away and leave me alone with him, so my father and my mother went to wait for me at The George. The Charmer carried me to a room upstairs and sent his wife away, and laid me on the floor and locked the door. Then he took down a big book and placed it on the floor beside me. He opened it at the picture of a little plant—I can see the plant to this day—and he pointed with his left hand to the picture, and with his right hand he made the sign of the crosson my leg, where the stab went through me, and said:‘Ta mee skeaylley yn guin shoh ayns ennym yn Ayr, as y Vac, as y Spyrryd Noo, Ned Quayle. My she guin, ayns ennym y Chiarn, ta mee skealley eh ass yn eill, ass ny fehyn, as ass ny craueyn,’ which means in English—I spread this fairy shot in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Ned Quayle. If it is a fairy shot, in the name of the Lord, I spread it out of the flesh, out of the sinews, and out of the bones. That minute the pain left me. I felt very hungry, and the Charmer’s wife set me at a table and gave me dinner. The Charmer went to fetch my father and my mother, and when they came in I was eating like two.The Charmer told my mother I must not go on the mountain alone between the lights again. The pain never came back. I have been sound from that day to this, but I have the mark on my leg where the stab went through as clear as glass to the bone.SCENE: A VILLAGEBlackbird sings to Innkeeper’s pretty daughter.Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?Skee fieau, skee fieau,Lhondoo, Lhondoo.Red head, red head,Black apron, black apron,Are you coming? Are you coming?Tired waiting, tired waiting,Blackbird, Blackbird.KITTERLANDIt was more than eight hundred years ago, in the days of Olaf Goddardson, that Baron Kitter, the Norwegian, lived in Mann. He had his castle on the top of Barrule, and he spent all his time in hunting the bisons and elks that were on the island then, until he had killed them all. Then the people began to be afraid that he would chase their cattle and the purrs of the mountains, and leave them no beasts at all, so they went to the wisest witches of the island, to see what they could do.One day Baron Kitter had gone over to the Calf to hunt the red deer there, leaving his cook, Eaoch of the Loud Voice, in the castle to cook his dinner. Eaoch set the pot on the fire and then fell asleep over his work. While he was sleeping thewitch-wife Ada put a spell on the pot, and the fat boiled over into the fire. Soon the house was in flames. Eaoch woke and shouted for help at the top of his voice, and his cries were so loud that they reached the ears of Kitter and his fellow-huntsmen, ten miles away on the Calf.When Kitter heard the cries and saw the flames on the top of Barrule, he made for the beach as hard as he could, and put out in a small currach for the island, with most of his friends. When they were in the strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck on a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since been called Kitterland. The rest of Kitter’s friends, who had stayed on the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook, had made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the Norwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged, and he was condemned to death. But according to the custom of Norway, he was allowed to choose how he would die.Then he said:‘I wish my head to be laid across one of your Majesty’s legs, and there cut off by your Majesty’s sword Macabuin, which was made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim!’It was known to every person there that the king’s sword could cut the hardest granite, only by touching it with its edge, and they all begged Olaf not to do as crafty Eaoch asked. But the king would not break his word and gave orders that all should be done as the cook had said.But the witch Ada was there and she told them to take toads’ skins, twigs of the cuirn tree, and adders’ eggs, nine times nine of each, and put them between the king’s leg and the cook’s head. They did this, and then the great sword Macabuin, made by Loan Maclibuin, was lifted with the greatest care by one of the king’s faithful servants and laid gently on the cook’s neck, but before it could be stopped Eaoch’s head was cut from his body and the adders’eggs and the cuirn twigs were also cut through—only the toads’ skins saved the king’s leg.When the Dark Smith heard how the power of the great sword Macabuin had been stayed by witchcraft, he was very angry, and called for his Hammer-man, Hiallus-nan-urd, who had lost one leg when he was helping to make the sword. He sent him off at once to Peel Castle to challenge King Olaf, or any of his men, to a walking race from Peel to Drontheim. King Olaf himself took up the challenge, and off they set. Over mountains and through gills they walked, as fast as they could go, and the one-legged man as fast as the king. When they had crossed the island they each put out to sea in a sailing boat, and each came in sight of Drontheim at the same moment. When they drew near to the smithy, the Hammer-man, who was ahead, called out to Loan to open the door, and Olaf called to him to shut it, and then, pushing past Hiallus, got into the smithy first.To show that he was not at all weary after his walk Olaf took up the great hammer of the forge and struck the anvil such a mighty blow that he split it through, and the block beneath it, too. When Emergaid, the daughter of Loan, saw the strength and power of Olaf, she loved him; and while her father was putting back the block and anvil, she whispered to the king:‘My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is making. It has been foretold that the first blood it shall shed shall be royal blood, and he has sworn that that blood shall be yours.’‘But is not your father the seventh son of Old Windy Cap, King of Norway?’ cried Olaf.‘He is,’ said Emergaid.‘Then the prophecy shall be fulfilled,’ said Olaf, and he thrust the sword into the heart of Loan, and afterwards slew with it the Hammer-man also.He made Emergaid his queen and they ruled together, and from them came a long line of Kings of Mann.TEEVAL, PRINCESS OF THE OCEANIn the old days Culain, the smith of the gods, was living in the Isle of Mann. It was the time when Conchubar was at the court of the King of Ulster, and had nothing but the sword in his hand. He was a fine handsome young man, and he had made up his mind to make himself a king. So he went one day to the Druid of Clogher to ask him what he had best do.‘Go thy way,’ said the Druid, ‘to the Isle of Mann. There thou wilt find the great smith Culain. Get him to make thee a sword and a spear and a shield, and with these thou shalt win the kingdom of Ulster.’Conchubar went away, and hired a boat and put out to sea. He landed in Mann and made straight for Culain’s smithy. Itwas night when he got there, and the red glow of the furnace shone out into the dark. He could hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer on the anvil. When he came near, a great dog, as large as a calf, began to bay and to growl like thunder, and brought his master out.‘Who art thou, young man?’ said he.‘Oh Culain!’ cried Conchubar, ‘it is from the Druid of Clogher that I come, and he bade me ask thee to make me a sword and a spear and a shield, for only with weapons of thy making can I win the Kingdom of Ulster.’Culain’s face grew black at first, but after he had gazed for a while at Conchubar, he saw that he had the look about him of one who would go far, and he said:‘It shall be done for thee, but thou must wait, for the work is long.’So Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the island.Early one brave morning in May whenthe sun had just risen over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself how much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it was full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the sun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and, behold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on, fast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin whiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her cheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face of the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on her neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she was a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into the ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.Then she awoke and opened her eyes,which were blue as the sea, and when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror, ‘Loose me, man, loose me!’Conchubar did not answer, so she said again, ‘Loose me, I beg thee!’ in a voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He answered, trembling, ‘Woman, my heart, who art thou?’‘I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,’ said she. ‘Set me free, I pray thee.’‘But if I set thee free,’ said Conchubar, ‘thou wilt leave me.’‘I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,’ she cried; ‘set me free, and I will give thee a precious gift.’‘I will loose thee,’ answered Conchubar. ‘It is not for the gift, but because I cannot resist thee.’He unfastened the girdle from her and she said, ‘My gift to thee is this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him that Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,bids him to put her figure on the shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it always in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my name, thy enemies’ strength shall go from them and shall come into thee and thy men.’ When she had said this, she waved her white arm to Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long time at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly to the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.Culain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and forged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear set with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and white gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and his mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.All that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went into battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried ‘Help, Teeval.’Then he felt strength come into himlike the strength of a giant, and he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous all over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King of Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom, and gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.But he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.THE WIZARD’S PALACELong hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain sloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.In it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his spells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and he would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants, and they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace, to ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of again. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite near the palace were like the men who had gone upthe mountain and never came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught them and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became the terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within several miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island fled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.So things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going on the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not knowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain, where the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to see the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to the usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found the houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where was the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds and stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he walked and walked; butnever a bit of shelter could he find, and he did not know where to go to get a bed. ‘It’s a middlin’ dark night,’ he thought; ‘but it’s better to go on than back—a road a body is used on is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.’ He was travelling on the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing ‘Colcheragh Raby’ for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to a grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked out of him.‘In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big house,’ he said to himself; ‘where did it come from, for all? Nobody never seen the like of it on this bare breas’ before—else where am I at all, at all?’He was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying about like frozen men.‘I’d swear,’ he said to himself as he stumbled over one, ‘that this was lil’ NeddyHom, the dwarf man tha’s missin’, only it’s stone.’When he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows he saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was very tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such a fine place.‘Aw, that place is too gran’ for the likes of me!’ said he.He sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:‘I’ll stretch meself here till mornin’, it’s a middlin’ sort of a night.’That day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he had passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he opened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of paper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the ground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans,high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a hundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself on a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace of the palace was to be seen.He went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his escape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people all that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance of the Wizard.THE ENCHANTED ISLEOut under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the Calf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface of the water—that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann—but when Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the form of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan dropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.Now it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and he rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when Old May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from the sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan looks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isleare green, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may see the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water’s edge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds, and smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of the sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.STORIES ABOUT BIRDSI.The RavensTwo Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:‘Is there nothing new at you?’‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:‘Bare bones, bare bones!’II.Blackbird’s Morning SongOld Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.III.How the Wren became King of the BirdsA long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.THE MODDEY DOO OR THE BLACK DOG OF PEEL CASTLEIn the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of Derby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The guard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle and a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches, to the Captain of the Guard’s room. At the end of the day one of the soldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the dark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.About this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog withrough curly hair. He did not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about him. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room and the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage and lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there till the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into the passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a time they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear, though they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While he was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words were spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain, two of them would always go together—no man would face the dark passage alone.One night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good for him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the dog. It was not histurn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was he said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.‘Let him come,’ he shouted, laughing; ‘I’ll see whether he be dog or devil!’His friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched up the keys and went out into the passage.The Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.There was a dead silence in the guard-room—no sound was heard but the dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.After a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful and unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to see what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently they heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His face was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word, then or afterwards.In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew what had happened to him that fearful night.The Black Dog has never been seen again.LITTLE RED BIRDLittle red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the briar,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the bush,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night between two leavesAs a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,And oh! what a peaceful sleep!An old Manx Lullaby.TEHI TEGILong hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made herself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like for beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she went out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget to sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off the trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till she went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men, the poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo her, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to leave her. They forgot everything else in the world—all sorrow and care, home and country, till at last everything in the island cameto a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch chose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither ploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither built nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their fields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of pasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange stillness throughout the island—no children’s voices were to be heard anywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer, ‘An’ maybe I will,’ and then she would say the same to the next. So they spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made slaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:‘Saddle me my horse, for I’ve a mind to ride.’So they brought her milk-white horseshod with shoes of gold, with bit of gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl and saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her golden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.‘I’m going,’ said she, ‘to the country for the day, and you can follow me on foot if you like.’She rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes, where blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the hedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with stones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of them by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth, and then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny nettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills shining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams ran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower, to the blue sea.At last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river, and she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and clear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely covered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she took off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed up the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself and rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse turned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam away out to sea and was never more seen.From that time the wise men of the island made their women go on foot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no such accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first, anyone who saw her cried out ‘Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!’
THE LITTLE FOOTPRINTSClose to the Niarbyl, the great tail of rock that stretches into the sea at Dalby, is a little house on the strand. It is sheltered behind by the high rock which rises above its thatched roof. Before it lies Bay Mooar, the great bay, held by a chain of mountains purple with ling. Standing before its door and looking to the west, you may see the sun set behind the distant Mourne Mountains. At dawn you may see him rise over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. Here lived Juan, the fisherman.He knew, as well as any person, that the Little People were all around. When he was a boy he had many a time looked out of the door on moonlight nights to try if he could put sight on them dancingon the lonely shore. He had not seen them—they make themselves invisible when they know that mortal eyes are on them. But he had seen the tiny riding lights of their herring fleet in the bay, and had helped his father to draw in the nets full of good fish, which were sure to be caught the night after. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in the dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great breakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. He knew it was the Little People hammering at their herring barrels in Ooig-ny-Seyir, the Coopers’ Cave, under the hills, and that as the chips flew out on to the waves they became ships.He had heard the story of the fisherman, a friend of his father’s, who was fishing one night at Lag-ny-Keilley, when a dense grey mist rolled in. He thought he had best make for home while the footpath above the rocks was visible. When he was getting his things together he heard what sounded like a lot of children coming out of school. He lifted his head, and, behold, there was afleet of fairy boats each side of the rock, their riding lights shining like little stars on a frosty night. The crews seemed busy preparing to come on shore, and he heard one little fellow shout:‘Hraaghyn boght as earish broigh, skeddan dy liooar ec yn mooinjer seihll shoh, cha nel veg ain!’Poor times and dirty weather, herring enough at the people of this world, nothing at us!‘Then,’ said the fisherman, ‘they dropped off and went agate o’ the flitters.’When Juan was a big boy he himself saw a thing which he never forgot. One day he left a boat over at the farther side of Bay Mooar, and at night he had to go over to fetch it. It was a moonlight night and the bay was as smooth as glass as he rowed across. There was no sound but the lapping of the little waves on the shore, and now and again the cry of a gannet. Juan found his boat on the strand where he had left her and was setting to work to launch her, when he thought he saw a glimmeringlight, which was not the light of the moon, in one of the caves near him. He stood where he was, and listened, and he heard the sound of faint music. Then he went as silently as he was able to the cave, and looked in. No light was there but the dim light of the moon. The shadows in the corners of the cave were as black as pitch.Juan was trembling all over, and at first he was blinking his eyes and could see nothing. But after some minutes he saw a great stone in the midst of the cave and the floor of fine white sand. And on the sand around that stone there were little footprints—marks of tiny clogs they were, no bigger than his thumb!
THE LITTLE FOOTPRINTS
Close to the Niarbyl, the great tail of rock that stretches into the sea at Dalby, is a little house on the strand. It is sheltered behind by the high rock which rises above its thatched roof. Before it lies Bay Mooar, the great bay, held by a chain of mountains purple with ling. Standing before its door and looking to the west, you may see the sun set behind the distant Mourne Mountains. At dawn you may see him rise over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. Here lived Juan, the fisherman.He knew, as well as any person, that the Little People were all around. When he was a boy he had many a time looked out of the door on moonlight nights to try if he could put sight on them dancingon the lonely shore. He had not seen them—they make themselves invisible when they know that mortal eyes are on them. But he had seen the tiny riding lights of their herring fleet in the bay, and had helped his father to draw in the nets full of good fish, which were sure to be caught the night after. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in the dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great breakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. He knew it was the Little People hammering at their herring barrels in Ooig-ny-Seyir, the Coopers’ Cave, under the hills, and that as the chips flew out on to the waves they became ships.He had heard the story of the fisherman, a friend of his father’s, who was fishing one night at Lag-ny-Keilley, when a dense grey mist rolled in. He thought he had best make for home while the footpath above the rocks was visible. When he was getting his things together he heard what sounded like a lot of children coming out of school. He lifted his head, and, behold, there was afleet of fairy boats each side of the rock, their riding lights shining like little stars on a frosty night. The crews seemed busy preparing to come on shore, and he heard one little fellow shout:‘Hraaghyn boght as earish broigh, skeddan dy liooar ec yn mooinjer seihll shoh, cha nel veg ain!’Poor times and dirty weather, herring enough at the people of this world, nothing at us!‘Then,’ said the fisherman, ‘they dropped off and went agate o’ the flitters.’When Juan was a big boy he himself saw a thing which he never forgot. One day he left a boat over at the farther side of Bay Mooar, and at night he had to go over to fetch it. It was a moonlight night and the bay was as smooth as glass as he rowed across. There was no sound but the lapping of the little waves on the shore, and now and again the cry of a gannet. Juan found his boat on the strand where he had left her and was setting to work to launch her, when he thought he saw a glimmeringlight, which was not the light of the moon, in one of the caves near him. He stood where he was, and listened, and he heard the sound of faint music. Then he went as silently as he was able to the cave, and looked in. No light was there but the dim light of the moon. The shadows in the corners of the cave were as black as pitch.Juan was trembling all over, and at first he was blinking his eyes and could see nothing. But after some minutes he saw a great stone in the midst of the cave and the floor of fine white sand. And on the sand around that stone there were little footprints—marks of tiny clogs they were, no bigger than his thumb!
Close to the Niarbyl, the great tail of rock that stretches into the sea at Dalby, is a little house on the strand. It is sheltered behind by the high rock which rises above its thatched roof. Before it lies Bay Mooar, the great bay, held by a chain of mountains purple with ling. Standing before its door and looking to the west, you may see the sun set behind the distant Mourne Mountains. At dawn you may see him rise over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. Here lived Juan, the fisherman.
He knew, as well as any person, that the Little People were all around. When he was a boy he had many a time looked out of the door on moonlight nights to try if he could put sight on them dancingon the lonely shore. He had not seen them—they make themselves invisible when they know that mortal eyes are on them. But he had seen the tiny riding lights of their herring fleet in the bay, and had helped his father to draw in the nets full of good fish, which were sure to be caught the night after. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in the dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great breakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. He knew it was the Little People hammering at their herring barrels in Ooig-ny-Seyir, the Coopers’ Cave, under the hills, and that as the chips flew out on to the waves they became ships.
He had heard the story of the fisherman, a friend of his father’s, who was fishing one night at Lag-ny-Keilley, when a dense grey mist rolled in. He thought he had best make for home while the footpath above the rocks was visible. When he was getting his things together he heard what sounded like a lot of children coming out of school. He lifted his head, and, behold, there was afleet of fairy boats each side of the rock, their riding lights shining like little stars on a frosty night. The crews seemed busy preparing to come on shore, and he heard one little fellow shout:
‘Hraaghyn boght as earish broigh, skeddan dy liooar ec yn mooinjer seihll shoh, cha nel veg ain!’
Poor times and dirty weather, herring enough at the people of this world, nothing at us!
‘Then,’ said the fisherman, ‘they dropped off and went agate o’ the flitters.’
When Juan was a big boy he himself saw a thing which he never forgot. One day he left a boat over at the farther side of Bay Mooar, and at night he had to go over to fetch it. It was a moonlight night and the bay was as smooth as glass as he rowed across. There was no sound but the lapping of the little waves on the shore, and now and again the cry of a gannet. Juan found his boat on the strand where he had left her and was setting to work to launch her, when he thought he saw a glimmeringlight, which was not the light of the moon, in one of the caves near him. He stood where he was, and listened, and he heard the sound of faint music. Then he went as silently as he was able to the cave, and looked in. No light was there but the dim light of the moon. The shadows in the corners of the cave were as black as pitch.
Juan was trembling all over, and at first he was blinking his eyes and could see nothing. But after some minutes he saw a great stone in the midst of the cave and the floor of fine white sand. And on the sand around that stone there were little footprints—marks of tiny clogs they were, no bigger than his thumb!
THE TALL MAN OF BALLACURRYTom Craine was going home at midnight from Bradda mine to his home at Colby. The road was lonely and he met no person, but the full moon was shining and it was as light as day. As he began to pass under the trees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared suddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his heels. He whistled to it, but as he turned his head to look at it, it ran on in front of him, and for a minute he did not see it. When he came in sight of it again, he was terrified to see that it had grown larger—as big as a goat—and it grew bigger and bigger till it was the size of a donkey! It galloped before him and disappeared round the bend of the road where the gate of Ballacurry is. WhenTom came to the gate he saw a very tall, thin man leaning on it, with his arms folded on the top of it. The beast was not there. As Tom reached the gate the tall thin man turned and walked up the long path that leads to the house. When he got to the door he turned again and walked back down the path towards Tom. By the bright moonlight Tom saw the lace ruffle round his neck, the satin of his knee breeches, the silk of his stockings, and the shining buckles on his shoes—the dress of bygone days. His face was white and dreadful. As Tom looked he was all at once taken with terror, and ran off as hard as he could go down the road to Colby.He had not gone far when he met two of his friends, Ben Mylechreest and Bill Teare. He told them what he had seen, and they made fun of him and would not believe that he had seen any such thing. They said they would go back with him to the gate, so they all three turned back. When they got to the gate they saw the big man, as tall as two men, walking up thepath with his back towards them. As before, when he reached the door, he turned—what they saw they never told any man!They took to their heels, all three, and ran till they could run no longer. They were trembling from head to foot and the sweat pouring from them. They were too terrified to go home, so they turned in with Tom and they slept, all three, in one bed.
THE TALL MAN OF BALLACURRY
Tom Craine was going home at midnight from Bradda mine to his home at Colby. The road was lonely and he met no person, but the full moon was shining and it was as light as day. As he began to pass under the trees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared suddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his heels. He whistled to it, but as he turned his head to look at it, it ran on in front of him, and for a minute he did not see it. When he came in sight of it again, he was terrified to see that it had grown larger—as big as a goat—and it grew bigger and bigger till it was the size of a donkey! It galloped before him and disappeared round the bend of the road where the gate of Ballacurry is. WhenTom came to the gate he saw a very tall, thin man leaning on it, with his arms folded on the top of it. The beast was not there. As Tom reached the gate the tall thin man turned and walked up the long path that leads to the house. When he got to the door he turned again and walked back down the path towards Tom. By the bright moonlight Tom saw the lace ruffle round his neck, the satin of his knee breeches, the silk of his stockings, and the shining buckles on his shoes—the dress of bygone days. His face was white and dreadful. As Tom looked he was all at once taken with terror, and ran off as hard as he could go down the road to Colby.He had not gone far when he met two of his friends, Ben Mylechreest and Bill Teare. He told them what he had seen, and they made fun of him and would not believe that he had seen any such thing. They said they would go back with him to the gate, so they all three turned back. When they got to the gate they saw the big man, as tall as two men, walking up thepath with his back towards them. As before, when he reached the door, he turned—what they saw they never told any man!They took to their heels, all three, and ran till they could run no longer. They were trembling from head to foot and the sweat pouring from them. They were too terrified to go home, so they turned in with Tom and they slept, all three, in one bed.
Tom Craine was going home at midnight from Bradda mine to his home at Colby. The road was lonely and he met no person, but the full moon was shining and it was as light as day. As he began to pass under the trees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared suddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his heels. He whistled to it, but as he turned his head to look at it, it ran on in front of him, and for a minute he did not see it. When he came in sight of it again, he was terrified to see that it had grown larger—as big as a goat—and it grew bigger and bigger till it was the size of a donkey! It galloped before him and disappeared round the bend of the road where the gate of Ballacurry is. WhenTom came to the gate he saw a very tall, thin man leaning on it, with his arms folded on the top of it. The beast was not there. As Tom reached the gate the tall thin man turned and walked up the long path that leads to the house. When he got to the door he turned again and walked back down the path towards Tom. By the bright moonlight Tom saw the lace ruffle round his neck, the satin of his knee breeches, the silk of his stockings, and the shining buckles on his shoes—the dress of bygone days. His face was white and dreadful. As Tom looked he was all at once taken with terror, and ran off as hard as he could go down the road to Colby.
He had not gone far when he met two of his friends, Ben Mylechreest and Bill Teare. He told them what he had seen, and they made fun of him and would not believe that he had seen any such thing. They said they would go back with him to the gate, so they all three turned back. When they got to the gate they saw the big man, as tall as two men, walking up thepath with his back towards them. As before, when he reached the door, he turned—what they saw they never told any man!
They took to their heels, all three, and ran till they could run no longer. They were trembling from head to foot and the sweat pouring from them. They were too terrified to go home, so they turned in with Tom and they slept, all three, in one bed.
NED QUAYLE’S STORY OF THE FAIRY PIGWhen I was a little boy, we lived over by Sloc. One day, when I was six years old, my mother and my grandmother went up the mountain to make hay and I was left by myself. It was getting rather late, and they had not come back, so I was frightened, and started off up the mountain to try and find them. I had not gone far when I saw running before me a little snow-white pig. At first I thought it was some neighbour’s pig and I tried to catch it, but it ran from me and I ran after it. As it went I saw that it was not like an ordinary pig—its tail was feathery and spread out like a fan, and it had long lapping ears that swept the ling. Now and again it turned its head and lookedat me, and its eyes were burning like fire. We went higher and higher up the mountain, and all of a sudden I found myself at the edge of a steep brow and was all but over. I turned just in time, and ran as hard as I could go down the mountain and the pig after me. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that it was jumping over the big stones and rocks on the mountain side as if they had been butts of ling. I thought it would catch me; it was close behind me when I ran in at our garden gate, but I was just in time, and I slammed the door upon it.I told my mother and my grandmother what had happened, and my grandmother said it was a Fairy Pig. I was not like myself that night; I could not eat any supper, and I went soon to my bed; I could not sleep, but lay tossing about; and was burning hot. After a time my mother opened the door to see if I was asleep, and when she looked at me, HER EYES WERE LIKE THE PIG’S EYES. I felt a sharp pain go through my right leg like a stab. Afterthat the pain never left me; it was so bad that I could not bear to be touched, and I could eat nothing. I grew worse and worse, and after some days my father said he would take me to a Charmer at Castletown. They lifted me in the sheet, four men taking the four corners, and carried me to a cart. Never will I forget the shaking and jolting I had in that cart. When we got to Castletown I was more dead than alive.The Charmer lived in Arbory Street and they took me to his house. When he saw me he said that they must all go away and leave me alone with him, so my father and my mother went to wait for me at The George. The Charmer carried me to a room upstairs and sent his wife away, and laid me on the floor and locked the door. Then he took down a big book and placed it on the floor beside me. He opened it at the picture of a little plant—I can see the plant to this day—and he pointed with his left hand to the picture, and with his right hand he made the sign of the crosson my leg, where the stab went through me, and said:‘Ta mee skeaylley yn guin shoh ayns ennym yn Ayr, as y Vac, as y Spyrryd Noo, Ned Quayle. My she guin, ayns ennym y Chiarn, ta mee skealley eh ass yn eill, ass ny fehyn, as ass ny craueyn,’ which means in English—I spread this fairy shot in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Ned Quayle. If it is a fairy shot, in the name of the Lord, I spread it out of the flesh, out of the sinews, and out of the bones. That minute the pain left me. I felt very hungry, and the Charmer’s wife set me at a table and gave me dinner. The Charmer went to fetch my father and my mother, and when they came in I was eating like two.The Charmer told my mother I must not go on the mountain alone between the lights again. The pain never came back. I have been sound from that day to this, but I have the mark on my leg where the stab went through as clear as glass to the bone.
NED QUAYLE’S STORY OF THE FAIRY PIG
When I was a little boy, we lived over by Sloc. One day, when I was six years old, my mother and my grandmother went up the mountain to make hay and I was left by myself. It was getting rather late, and they had not come back, so I was frightened, and started off up the mountain to try and find them. I had not gone far when I saw running before me a little snow-white pig. At first I thought it was some neighbour’s pig and I tried to catch it, but it ran from me and I ran after it. As it went I saw that it was not like an ordinary pig—its tail was feathery and spread out like a fan, and it had long lapping ears that swept the ling. Now and again it turned its head and lookedat me, and its eyes were burning like fire. We went higher and higher up the mountain, and all of a sudden I found myself at the edge of a steep brow and was all but over. I turned just in time, and ran as hard as I could go down the mountain and the pig after me. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that it was jumping over the big stones and rocks on the mountain side as if they had been butts of ling. I thought it would catch me; it was close behind me when I ran in at our garden gate, but I was just in time, and I slammed the door upon it.I told my mother and my grandmother what had happened, and my grandmother said it was a Fairy Pig. I was not like myself that night; I could not eat any supper, and I went soon to my bed; I could not sleep, but lay tossing about; and was burning hot. After a time my mother opened the door to see if I was asleep, and when she looked at me, HER EYES WERE LIKE THE PIG’S EYES. I felt a sharp pain go through my right leg like a stab. Afterthat the pain never left me; it was so bad that I could not bear to be touched, and I could eat nothing. I grew worse and worse, and after some days my father said he would take me to a Charmer at Castletown. They lifted me in the sheet, four men taking the four corners, and carried me to a cart. Never will I forget the shaking and jolting I had in that cart. When we got to Castletown I was more dead than alive.The Charmer lived in Arbory Street and they took me to his house. When he saw me he said that they must all go away and leave me alone with him, so my father and my mother went to wait for me at The George. The Charmer carried me to a room upstairs and sent his wife away, and laid me on the floor and locked the door. Then he took down a big book and placed it on the floor beside me. He opened it at the picture of a little plant—I can see the plant to this day—and he pointed with his left hand to the picture, and with his right hand he made the sign of the crosson my leg, where the stab went through me, and said:‘Ta mee skeaylley yn guin shoh ayns ennym yn Ayr, as y Vac, as y Spyrryd Noo, Ned Quayle. My she guin, ayns ennym y Chiarn, ta mee skealley eh ass yn eill, ass ny fehyn, as ass ny craueyn,’ which means in English—I spread this fairy shot in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Ned Quayle. If it is a fairy shot, in the name of the Lord, I spread it out of the flesh, out of the sinews, and out of the bones. That minute the pain left me. I felt very hungry, and the Charmer’s wife set me at a table and gave me dinner. The Charmer went to fetch my father and my mother, and when they came in I was eating like two.The Charmer told my mother I must not go on the mountain alone between the lights again. The pain never came back. I have been sound from that day to this, but I have the mark on my leg where the stab went through as clear as glass to the bone.
When I was a little boy, we lived over by Sloc. One day, when I was six years old, my mother and my grandmother went up the mountain to make hay and I was left by myself. It was getting rather late, and they had not come back, so I was frightened, and started off up the mountain to try and find them. I had not gone far when I saw running before me a little snow-white pig. At first I thought it was some neighbour’s pig and I tried to catch it, but it ran from me and I ran after it. As it went I saw that it was not like an ordinary pig—its tail was feathery and spread out like a fan, and it had long lapping ears that swept the ling. Now and again it turned its head and lookedat me, and its eyes were burning like fire. We went higher and higher up the mountain, and all of a sudden I found myself at the edge of a steep brow and was all but over. I turned just in time, and ran as hard as I could go down the mountain and the pig after me. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that it was jumping over the big stones and rocks on the mountain side as if they had been butts of ling. I thought it would catch me; it was close behind me when I ran in at our garden gate, but I was just in time, and I slammed the door upon it.
I told my mother and my grandmother what had happened, and my grandmother said it was a Fairy Pig. I was not like myself that night; I could not eat any supper, and I went soon to my bed; I could not sleep, but lay tossing about; and was burning hot. After a time my mother opened the door to see if I was asleep, and when she looked at me, HER EYES WERE LIKE THE PIG’S EYES. I felt a sharp pain go through my right leg like a stab. Afterthat the pain never left me; it was so bad that I could not bear to be touched, and I could eat nothing. I grew worse and worse, and after some days my father said he would take me to a Charmer at Castletown. They lifted me in the sheet, four men taking the four corners, and carried me to a cart. Never will I forget the shaking and jolting I had in that cart. When we got to Castletown I was more dead than alive.
The Charmer lived in Arbory Street and they took me to his house. When he saw me he said that they must all go away and leave me alone with him, so my father and my mother went to wait for me at The George. The Charmer carried me to a room upstairs and sent his wife away, and laid me on the floor and locked the door. Then he took down a big book and placed it on the floor beside me. He opened it at the picture of a little plant—I can see the plant to this day—and he pointed with his left hand to the picture, and with his right hand he made the sign of the crosson my leg, where the stab went through me, and said:
‘Ta mee skeaylley yn guin shoh ayns ennym yn Ayr, as y Vac, as y Spyrryd Noo, Ned Quayle. My she guin, ayns ennym y Chiarn, ta mee skealley eh ass yn eill, ass ny fehyn, as ass ny craueyn,’ which means in English—I spread this fairy shot in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Ned Quayle. If it is a fairy shot, in the name of the Lord, I spread it out of the flesh, out of the sinews, and out of the bones. That minute the pain left me. I felt very hungry, and the Charmer’s wife set me at a table and gave me dinner. The Charmer went to fetch my father and my mother, and when they came in I was eating like two.
The Charmer told my mother I must not go on the mountain alone between the lights again. The pain never came back. I have been sound from that day to this, but I have the mark on my leg where the stab went through as clear as glass to the bone.
SCENE: A VILLAGEBlackbird sings to Innkeeper’s pretty daughter.Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?Skee fieau, skee fieau,Lhondoo, Lhondoo.Red head, red head,Black apron, black apron,Are you coming? Are you coming?Tired waiting, tired waiting,Blackbird, Blackbird.
SCENE: A VILLAGE
Blackbird sings to Innkeeper’s pretty daughter.Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?Skee fieau, skee fieau,Lhondoo, Lhondoo.Red head, red head,Black apron, black apron,Are you coming? Are you coming?Tired waiting, tired waiting,Blackbird, Blackbird.
Blackbird sings to Innkeeper’s pretty daughter.
Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?Skee fieau, skee fieau,Lhondoo, Lhondoo.Red head, red head,Black apron, black apron,Are you coming? Are you coming?Tired waiting, tired waiting,Blackbird, Blackbird.
Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?Skee fieau, skee fieau,Lhondoo, Lhondoo.
Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,
Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,
Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?
Skee fieau, skee fieau,
Lhondoo, Lhondoo.
Red head, red head,Black apron, black apron,Are you coming? Are you coming?Tired waiting, tired waiting,Blackbird, Blackbird.
Red head, red head,
Black apron, black apron,
Are you coming? Are you coming?
Tired waiting, tired waiting,
Blackbird, Blackbird.
KITTERLANDIt was more than eight hundred years ago, in the days of Olaf Goddardson, that Baron Kitter, the Norwegian, lived in Mann. He had his castle on the top of Barrule, and he spent all his time in hunting the bisons and elks that were on the island then, until he had killed them all. Then the people began to be afraid that he would chase their cattle and the purrs of the mountains, and leave them no beasts at all, so they went to the wisest witches of the island, to see what they could do.One day Baron Kitter had gone over to the Calf to hunt the red deer there, leaving his cook, Eaoch of the Loud Voice, in the castle to cook his dinner. Eaoch set the pot on the fire and then fell asleep over his work. While he was sleeping thewitch-wife Ada put a spell on the pot, and the fat boiled over into the fire. Soon the house was in flames. Eaoch woke and shouted for help at the top of his voice, and his cries were so loud that they reached the ears of Kitter and his fellow-huntsmen, ten miles away on the Calf.When Kitter heard the cries and saw the flames on the top of Barrule, he made for the beach as hard as he could, and put out in a small currach for the island, with most of his friends. When they were in the strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck on a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since been called Kitterland. The rest of Kitter’s friends, who had stayed on the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook, had made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the Norwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged, and he was condemned to death. But according to the custom of Norway, he was allowed to choose how he would die.Then he said:‘I wish my head to be laid across one of your Majesty’s legs, and there cut off by your Majesty’s sword Macabuin, which was made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim!’It was known to every person there that the king’s sword could cut the hardest granite, only by touching it with its edge, and they all begged Olaf not to do as crafty Eaoch asked. But the king would not break his word and gave orders that all should be done as the cook had said.But the witch Ada was there and she told them to take toads’ skins, twigs of the cuirn tree, and adders’ eggs, nine times nine of each, and put them between the king’s leg and the cook’s head. They did this, and then the great sword Macabuin, made by Loan Maclibuin, was lifted with the greatest care by one of the king’s faithful servants and laid gently on the cook’s neck, but before it could be stopped Eaoch’s head was cut from his body and the adders’eggs and the cuirn twigs were also cut through—only the toads’ skins saved the king’s leg.When the Dark Smith heard how the power of the great sword Macabuin had been stayed by witchcraft, he was very angry, and called for his Hammer-man, Hiallus-nan-urd, who had lost one leg when he was helping to make the sword. He sent him off at once to Peel Castle to challenge King Olaf, or any of his men, to a walking race from Peel to Drontheim. King Olaf himself took up the challenge, and off they set. Over mountains and through gills they walked, as fast as they could go, and the one-legged man as fast as the king. When they had crossed the island they each put out to sea in a sailing boat, and each came in sight of Drontheim at the same moment. When they drew near to the smithy, the Hammer-man, who was ahead, called out to Loan to open the door, and Olaf called to him to shut it, and then, pushing past Hiallus, got into the smithy first.To show that he was not at all weary after his walk Olaf took up the great hammer of the forge and struck the anvil such a mighty blow that he split it through, and the block beneath it, too. When Emergaid, the daughter of Loan, saw the strength and power of Olaf, she loved him; and while her father was putting back the block and anvil, she whispered to the king:‘My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is making. It has been foretold that the first blood it shall shed shall be royal blood, and he has sworn that that blood shall be yours.’‘But is not your father the seventh son of Old Windy Cap, King of Norway?’ cried Olaf.‘He is,’ said Emergaid.‘Then the prophecy shall be fulfilled,’ said Olaf, and he thrust the sword into the heart of Loan, and afterwards slew with it the Hammer-man also.He made Emergaid his queen and they ruled together, and from them came a long line of Kings of Mann.
KITTERLAND
It was more than eight hundred years ago, in the days of Olaf Goddardson, that Baron Kitter, the Norwegian, lived in Mann. He had his castle on the top of Barrule, and he spent all his time in hunting the bisons and elks that were on the island then, until he had killed them all. Then the people began to be afraid that he would chase their cattle and the purrs of the mountains, and leave them no beasts at all, so they went to the wisest witches of the island, to see what they could do.One day Baron Kitter had gone over to the Calf to hunt the red deer there, leaving his cook, Eaoch of the Loud Voice, in the castle to cook his dinner. Eaoch set the pot on the fire and then fell asleep over his work. While he was sleeping thewitch-wife Ada put a spell on the pot, and the fat boiled over into the fire. Soon the house was in flames. Eaoch woke and shouted for help at the top of his voice, and his cries were so loud that they reached the ears of Kitter and his fellow-huntsmen, ten miles away on the Calf.When Kitter heard the cries and saw the flames on the top of Barrule, he made for the beach as hard as he could, and put out in a small currach for the island, with most of his friends. When they were in the strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck on a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since been called Kitterland. The rest of Kitter’s friends, who had stayed on the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook, had made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the Norwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged, and he was condemned to death. But according to the custom of Norway, he was allowed to choose how he would die.Then he said:‘I wish my head to be laid across one of your Majesty’s legs, and there cut off by your Majesty’s sword Macabuin, which was made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim!’It was known to every person there that the king’s sword could cut the hardest granite, only by touching it with its edge, and they all begged Olaf not to do as crafty Eaoch asked. But the king would not break his word and gave orders that all should be done as the cook had said.But the witch Ada was there and she told them to take toads’ skins, twigs of the cuirn tree, and adders’ eggs, nine times nine of each, and put them between the king’s leg and the cook’s head. They did this, and then the great sword Macabuin, made by Loan Maclibuin, was lifted with the greatest care by one of the king’s faithful servants and laid gently on the cook’s neck, but before it could be stopped Eaoch’s head was cut from his body and the adders’eggs and the cuirn twigs were also cut through—only the toads’ skins saved the king’s leg.When the Dark Smith heard how the power of the great sword Macabuin had been stayed by witchcraft, he was very angry, and called for his Hammer-man, Hiallus-nan-urd, who had lost one leg when he was helping to make the sword. He sent him off at once to Peel Castle to challenge King Olaf, or any of his men, to a walking race from Peel to Drontheim. King Olaf himself took up the challenge, and off they set. Over mountains and through gills they walked, as fast as they could go, and the one-legged man as fast as the king. When they had crossed the island they each put out to sea in a sailing boat, and each came in sight of Drontheim at the same moment. When they drew near to the smithy, the Hammer-man, who was ahead, called out to Loan to open the door, and Olaf called to him to shut it, and then, pushing past Hiallus, got into the smithy first.To show that he was not at all weary after his walk Olaf took up the great hammer of the forge and struck the anvil such a mighty blow that he split it through, and the block beneath it, too. When Emergaid, the daughter of Loan, saw the strength and power of Olaf, she loved him; and while her father was putting back the block and anvil, she whispered to the king:‘My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is making. It has been foretold that the first blood it shall shed shall be royal blood, and he has sworn that that blood shall be yours.’‘But is not your father the seventh son of Old Windy Cap, King of Norway?’ cried Olaf.‘He is,’ said Emergaid.‘Then the prophecy shall be fulfilled,’ said Olaf, and he thrust the sword into the heart of Loan, and afterwards slew with it the Hammer-man also.He made Emergaid his queen and they ruled together, and from them came a long line of Kings of Mann.
It was more than eight hundred years ago, in the days of Olaf Goddardson, that Baron Kitter, the Norwegian, lived in Mann. He had his castle on the top of Barrule, and he spent all his time in hunting the bisons and elks that were on the island then, until he had killed them all. Then the people began to be afraid that he would chase their cattle and the purrs of the mountains, and leave them no beasts at all, so they went to the wisest witches of the island, to see what they could do.
One day Baron Kitter had gone over to the Calf to hunt the red deer there, leaving his cook, Eaoch of the Loud Voice, in the castle to cook his dinner. Eaoch set the pot on the fire and then fell asleep over his work. While he was sleeping thewitch-wife Ada put a spell on the pot, and the fat boiled over into the fire. Soon the house was in flames. Eaoch woke and shouted for help at the top of his voice, and his cries were so loud that they reached the ears of Kitter and his fellow-huntsmen, ten miles away on the Calf.
When Kitter heard the cries and saw the flames on the top of Barrule, he made for the beach as hard as he could, and put out in a small currach for the island, with most of his friends. When they were in the strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck on a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since been called Kitterland. The rest of Kitter’s friends, who had stayed on the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook, had made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the Norwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged, and he was condemned to death. But according to the custom of Norway, he was allowed to choose how he would die.
Then he said:
‘I wish my head to be laid across one of your Majesty’s legs, and there cut off by your Majesty’s sword Macabuin, which was made by Loan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim!’
It was known to every person there that the king’s sword could cut the hardest granite, only by touching it with its edge, and they all begged Olaf not to do as crafty Eaoch asked. But the king would not break his word and gave orders that all should be done as the cook had said.
But the witch Ada was there and she told them to take toads’ skins, twigs of the cuirn tree, and adders’ eggs, nine times nine of each, and put them between the king’s leg and the cook’s head. They did this, and then the great sword Macabuin, made by Loan Maclibuin, was lifted with the greatest care by one of the king’s faithful servants and laid gently on the cook’s neck, but before it could be stopped Eaoch’s head was cut from his body and the adders’eggs and the cuirn twigs were also cut through—only the toads’ skins saved the king’s leg.
When the Dark Smith heard how the power of the great sword Macabuin had been stayed by witchcraft, he was very angry, and called for his Hammer-man, Hiallus-nan-urd, who had lost one leg when he was helping to make the sword. He sent him off at once to Peel Castle to challenge King Olaf, or any of his men, to a walking race from Peel to Drontheim. King Olaf himself took up the challenge, and off they set. Over mountains and through gills they walked, as fast as they could go, and the one-legged man as fast as the king. When they had crossed the island they each put out to sea in a sailing boat, and each came in sight of Drontheim at the same moment. When they drew near to the smithy, the Hammer-man, who was ahead, called out to Loan to open the door, and Olaf called to him to shut it, and then, pushing past Hiallus, got into the smithy first.
To show that he was not at all weary after his walk Olaf took up the great hammer of the forge and struck the anvil such a mighty blow that he split it through, and the block beneath it, too. When Emergaid, the daughter of Loan, saw the strength and power of Olaf, she loved him; and while her father was putting back the block and anvil, she whispered to the king:
‘My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is making. It has been foretold that the first blood it shall shed shall be royal blood, and he has sworn that that blood shall be yours.’
‘But is not your father the seventh son of Old Windy Cap, King of Norway?’ cried Olaf.
‘He is,’ said Emergaid.
‘Then the prophecy shall be fulfilled,’ said Olaf, and he thrust the sword into the heart of Loan, and afterwards slew with it the Hammer-man also.
He made Emergaid his queen and they ruled together, and from them came a long line of Kings of Mann.
TEEVAL, PRINCESS OF THE OCEANIn the old days Culain, the smith of the gods, was living in the Isle of Mann. It was the time when Conchubar was at the court of the King of Ulster, and had nothing but the sword in his hand. He was a fine handsome young man, and he had made up his mind to make himself a king. So he went one day to the Druid of Clogher to ask him what he had best do.‘Go thy way,’ said the Druid, ‘to the Isle of Mann. There thou wilt find the great smith Culain. Get him to make thee a sword and a spear and a shield, and with these thou shalt win the kingdom of Ulster.’Conchubar went away, and hired a boat and put out to sea. He landed in Mann and made straight for Culain’s smithy. Itwas night when he got there, and the red glow of the furnace shone out into the dark. He could hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer on the anvil. When he came near, a great dog, as large as a calf, began to bay and to growl like thunder, and brought his master out.‘Who art thou, young man?’ said he.‘Oh Culain!’ cried Conchubar, ‘it is from the Druid of Clogher that I come, and he bade me ask thee to make me a sword and a spear and a shield, for only with weapons of thy making can I win the Kingdom of Ulster.’Culain’s face grew black at first, but after he had gazed for a while at Conchubar, he saw that he had the look about him of one who would go far, and he said:‘It shall be done for thee, but thou must wait, for the work is long.’So Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the island.Early one brave morning in May whenthe sun had just risen over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself how much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it was full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the sun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and, behold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on, fast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin whiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her cheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face of the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on her neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she was a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into the ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.Then she awoke and opened her eyes,which were blue as the sea, and when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror, ‘Loose me, man, loose me!’Conchubar did not answer, so she said again, ‘Loose me, I beg thee!’ in a voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He answered, trembling, ‘Woman, my heart, who art thou?’‘I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,’ said she. ‘Set me free, I pray thee.’‘But if I set thee free,’ said Conchubar, ‘thou wilt leave me.’‘I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,’ she cried; ‘set me free, and I will give thee a precious gift.’‘I will loose thee,’ answered Conchubar. ‘It is not for the gift, but because I cannot resist thee.’He unfastened the girdle from her and she said, ‘My gift to thee is this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him that Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,bids him to put her figure on the shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it always in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my name, thy enemies’ strength shall go from them and shall come into thee and thy men.’ When she had said this, she waved her white arm to Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long time at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly to the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.Culain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and forged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear set with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and white gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and his mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.All that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went into battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried ‘Help, Teeval.’Then he felt strength come into himlike the strength of a giant, and he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous all over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King of Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom, and gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.But he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.
TEEVAL, PRINCESS OF THE OCEAN
In the old days Culain, the smith of the gods, was living in the Isle of Mann. It was the time when Conchubar was at the court of the King of Ulster, and had nothing but the sword in his hand. He was a fine handsome young man, and he had made up his mind to make himself a king. So he went one day to the Druid of Clogher to ask him what he had best do.‘Go thy way,’ said the Druid, ‘to the Isle of Mann. There thou wilt find the great smith Culain. Get him to make thee a sword and a spear and a shield, and with these thou shalt win the kingdom of Ulster.’Conchubar went away, and hired a boat and put out to sea. He landed in Mann and made straight for Culain’s smithy. Itwas night when he got there, and the red glow of the furnace shone out into the dark. He could hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer on the anvil. When he came near, a great dog, as large as a calf, began to bay and to growl like thunder, and brought his master out.‘Who art thou, young man?’ said he.‘Oh Culain!’ cried Conchubar, ‘it is from the Druid of Clogher that I come, and he bade me ask thee to make me a sword and a spear and a shield, for only with weapons of thy making can I win the Kingdom of Ulster.’Culain’s face grew black at first, but after he had gazed for a while at Conchubar, he saw that he had the look about him of one who would go far, and he said:‘It shall be done for thee, but thou must wait, for the work is long.’So Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the island.Early one brave morning in May whenthe sun had just risen over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself how much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it was full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the sun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and, behold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on, fast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin whiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her cheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face of the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on her neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she was a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into the ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.Then she awoke and opened her eyes,which were blue as the sea, and when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror, ‘Loose me, man, loose me!’Conchubar did not answer, so she said again, ‘Loose me, I beg thee!’ in a voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He answered, trembling, ‘Woman, my heart, who art thou?’‘I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,’ said she. ‘Set me free, I pray thee.’‘But if I set thee free,’ said Conchubar, ‘thou wilt leave me.’‘I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,’ she cried; ‘set me free, and I will give thee a precious gift.’‘I will loose thee,’ answered Conchubar. ‘It is not for the gift, but because I cannot resist thee.’He unfastened the girdle from her and she said, ‘My gift to thee is this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him that Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,bids him to put her figure on the shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it always in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my name, thy enemies’ strength shall go from them and shall come into thee and thy men.’ When she had said this, she waved her white arm to Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long time at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly to the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.Culain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and forged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear set with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and white gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and his mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.All that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went into battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried ‘Help, Teeval.’Then he felt strength come into himlike the strength of a giant, and he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous all over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King of Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom, and gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.But he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.
In the old days Culain, the smith of the gods, was living in the Isle of Mann. It was the time when Conchubar was at the court of the King of Ulster, and had nothing but the sword in his hand. He was a fine handsome young man, and he had made up his mind to make himself a king. So he went one day to the Druid of Clogher to ask him what he had best do.
‘Go thy way,’ said the Druid, ‘to the Isle of Mann. There thou wilt find the great smith Culain. Get him to make thee a sword and a spear and a shield, and with these thou shalt win the kingdom of Ulster.’
Conchubar went away, and hired a boat and put out to sea. He landed in Mann and made straight for Culain’s smithy. Itwas night when he got there, and the red glow of the furnace shone out into the dark. He could hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer on the anvil. When he came near, a great dog, as large as a calf, began to bay and to growl like thunder, and brought his master out.
‘Who art thou, young man?’ said he.
‘Oh Culain!’ cried Conchubar, ‘it is from the Druid of Clogher that I come, and he bade me ask thee to make me a sword and a spear and a shield, for only with weapons of thy making can I win the Kingdom of Ulster.’
Culain’s face grew black at first, but after he had gazed for a while at Conchubar, he saw that he had the look about him of one who would go far, and he said:
‘It shall be done for thee, but thou must wait, for the work is long.’
So Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the island.
Early one brave morning in May whenthe sun had just risen over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself how much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it was full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the sun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and, behold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on, fast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin whiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her cheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face of the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on her neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she was a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into the ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.
Then she awoke and opened her eyes,which were blue as the sea, and when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror, ‘Loose me, man, loose me!’
Conchubar did not answer, so she said again, ‘Loose me, I beg thee!’ in a voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.
By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He answered, trembling, ‘Woman, my heart, who art thou?’
‘I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,’ said she. ‘Set me free, I pray thee.’
‘But if I set thee free,’ said Conchubar, ‘thou wilt leave me.’
‘I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,’ she cried; ‘set me free, and I will give thee a precious gift.’
‘I will loose thee,’ answered Conchubar. ‘It is not for the gift, but because I cannot resist thee.’
He unfastened the girdle from her and she said, ‘My gift to thee is this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him that Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,bids him to put her figure on the shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it always in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my name, thy enemies’ strength shall go from them and shall come into thee and thy men.’ When she had said this, she waved her white arm to Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long time at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly to the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.
Culain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and forged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear set with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and white gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and his mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.
All that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went into battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried ‘Help, Teeval.’
Then he felt strength come into himlike the strength of a giant, and he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous all over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King of Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom, and gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.
But he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.
THE WIZARD’S PALACELong hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain sloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.In it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his spells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and he would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants, and they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace, to ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of again. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite near the palace were like the men who had gone upthe mountain and never came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught them and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became the terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within several miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island fled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.So things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going on the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not knowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain, where the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to see the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to the usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found the houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where was the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds and stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he walked and walked; butnever a bit of shelter could he find, and he did not know where to go to get a bed. ‘It’s a middlin’ dark night,’ he thought; ‘but it’s better to go on than back—a road a body is used on is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.’ He was travelling on the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing ‘Colcheragh Raby’ for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to a grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked out of him.‘In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big house,’ he said to himself; ‘where did it come from, for all? Nobody never seen the like of it on this bare breas’ before—else where am I at all, at all?’He was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying about like frozen men.‘I’d swear,’ he said to himself as he stumbled over one, ‘that this was lil’ NeddyHom, the dwarf man tha’s missin’, only it’s stone.’When he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows he saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was very tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such a fine place.‘Aw, that place is too gran’ for the likes of me!’ said he.He sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:‘I’ll stretch meself here till mornin’, it’s a middlin’ sort of a night.’That day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he had passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he opened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of paper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the ground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans,high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a hundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself on a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace of the palace was to be seen.He went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his escape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people all that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance of the Wizard.
THE WIZARD’S PALACE
Long hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain sloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.In it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his spells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and he would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants, and they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace, to ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of again. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite near the palace were like the men who had gone upthe mountain and never came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught them and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became the terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within several miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island fled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.So things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going on the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not knowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain, where the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to see the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to the usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found the houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where was the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds and stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he walked and walked; butnever a bit of shelter could he find, and he did not know where to go to get a bed. ‘It’s a middlin’ dark night,’ he thought; ‘but it’s better to go on than back—a road a body is used on is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.’ He was travelling on the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing ‘Colcheragh Raby’ for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to a grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked out of him.‘In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big house,’ he said to himself; ‘where did it come from, for all? Nobody never seen the like of it on this bare breas’ before—else where am I at all, at all?’He was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying about like frozen men.‘I’d swear,’ he said to himself as he stumbled over one, ‘that this was lil’ NeddyHom, the dwarf man tha’s missin’, only it’s stone.’When he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows he saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was very tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such a fine place.‘Aw, that place is too gran’ for the likes of me!’ said he.He sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:‘I’ll stretch meself here till mornin’, it’s a middlin’ sort of a night.’That day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he had passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he opened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of paper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the ground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans,high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a hundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself on a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace of the palace was to be seen.He went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his escape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people all that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance of the Wizard.
Long hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain sloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.
In it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his spells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and he would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants, and they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace, to ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of again. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite near the palace were like the men who had gone upthe mountain and never came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught them and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became the terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within several miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island fled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.
So things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going on the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not knowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain, where the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to see the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to the usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found the houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where was the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds and stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he walked and walked; butnever a bit of shelter could he find, and he did not know where to go to get a bed. ‘It’s a middlin’ dark night,’ he thought; ‘but it’s better to go on than back—a road a body is used on is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.’ He was travelling on the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing ‘Colcheragh Raby’ for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light in the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to a grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked out of him.
‘In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big house,’ he said to himself; ‘where did it come from, for all? Nobody never seen the like of it on this bare breas’ before—else where am I at all, at all?’
He was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying about like frozen men.
‘I’d swear,’ he said to himself as he stumbled over one, ‘that this was lil’ NeddyHom, the dwarf man tha’s missin’, only it’s stone.’
When he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows he saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was very tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such a fine place.
‘Aw, that place is too gran’ for the likes of me!’ said he.
He sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:
‘I’ll stretch meself here till mornin’, it’s a middlin’ sort of a night.’
That day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he had passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he opened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of paper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the ground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans,high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a hundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself on a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace of the palace was to be seen.
He went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his escape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people all that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance of the Wizard.
THE ENCHANTED ISLEOut under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the Calf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface of the water—that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann—but when Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the form of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan dropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.Now it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and he rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when Old May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from the sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan looks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isleare green, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may see the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water’s edge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds, and smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of the sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.
THE ENCHANTED ISLE
Out under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the Calf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface of the water—that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann—but when Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the form of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan dropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.Now it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and he rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when Old May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from the sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan looks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isleare green, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may see the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water’s edge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds, and smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of the sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.
Out under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the Calf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface of the water—that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann—but when Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the form of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan dropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.
Now it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and he rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when Old May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from the sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan looks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isleare green, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may see the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water’s edge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds, and smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of the sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.
STORIES ABOUT BIRDSI.The RavensTwo Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:‘Is there nothing new at you?’‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:‘Bare bones, bare bones!’II.Blackbird’s Morning SongOld Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.III.How the Wren became King of the BirdsA long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
STORIES ABOUT BIRDSI.The RavensTwo Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:‘Is there nothing new at you?’‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:‘Bare bones, bare bones!’II.Blackbird’s Morning SongOld Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.III.How the Wren became King of the BirdsA long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
I.The RavensTwo Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:‘Is there nothing new at you?’‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:‘Bare bones, bare bones!’
I.The Ravens
Two Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:‘Is there nothing new at you?’‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:‘Bare bones, bare bones!’
Two Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:
‘Is there nothing new at you?’
‘The white Horse is dead,’ said he.
‘Is he fat? Is he fat?’ said the other.
‘Delicious, delicious,’ said he.
Then he repented that he had told him that, and called out:
‘Bare bones, bare bones!’
II.Blackbird’s Morning SongOld Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.
II.Blackbird’s Morning Song
Old Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.
Old Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before his cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in his garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him in Manx:
‘Irree, Robin, as gow smook.’ ‘Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.’
‘Cha nel thombaga aym.’ ‘I have no tobacco,’ said Robin.
‘Kionn eh, kionn eh.’ ‘Buy it, buy it,’ cried Blackbird.
‘Cha nel ping aym.’ ‘I have not a penny,’ poor Robin said.
‘Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.’ ‘Credit it, credit it,’ was Blackbird’s bad advice.
‘Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.’ ‘They won’t give me credit, boy.’
‘Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.’ ‘Quit it, then, quit it,’ whistled Blackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.
‘The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!’ Robin said.
III.How the Wren became King of the BirdsA long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
III.How the Wren became King of the Birds
A long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
A long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the air gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to settle once and for all thesquabbling and fighting among them as to which of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest bird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and soon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row, cooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday coats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like Poor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or yellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow Tommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a gorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him, silent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue arch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.
The Corncrake officially announced, ‘Raip, raip’ (ready, ready). Then each one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could do. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom of Mann with all its rights;Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best to them—it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she thought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch, spread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her swiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of her riches—‘Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon her back,’ said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the Cuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced round, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little fool, and saying, ‘Let every bird hatch her own eggs,’ so poor Cuckoo wasn’t heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and the Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren got up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren got the better of them for all that. Says she:
Small though I am and slender my leg,Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.
Small though I am and slender my leg,
Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.
And the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best of them. But the eagle didn’t like it that a little bit of a bird like Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute, and says he, middling vexed: ‘Birds, it’s only right that the best bird on the wing should be king; let’s try a heat to see which of us can go the highest.’ Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: ‘I never saw anything yet worth flying for.’ But the birds said: ‘’Deed, it wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.’ No sooner said than done. Jinny Diver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off they started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way, the little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley, straggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the Stone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn’t stir—the sleep had fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the sun, till he couldn’t lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered down into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream out of him:
‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.’
‘I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.’
But little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had taken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and hidden herself. And as he cried ‘Ta mish Ree ny Ein,’ she flew on top of his head and called out, ‘Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.’
‘Not so, not so, I’m above him, I’m above him.’
Down dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but King of the Birds.
And that’s why the boys go round on St. Stephen’s Day to this day, singing:
The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,Though he’s small his family is many;We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,
We’ve caught St. Stephen’s Day in the gorse,
Though he’s small his family is many;
We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.
THE MODDEY DOO OR THE BLACK DOG OF PEEL CASTLEIn the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of Derby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The guard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle and a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches, to the Captain of the Guard’s room. At the end of the day one of the soldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the dark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.About this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog withrough curly hair. He did not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about him. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room and the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage and lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there till the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into the passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a time they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear, though they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While he was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words were spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain, two of them would always go together—no man would face the dark passage alone.One night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good for him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the dog. It was not histurn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was he said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.‘Let him come,’ he shouted, laughing; ‘I’ll see whether he be dog or devil!’His friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched up the keys and went out into the passage.The Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.There was a dead silence in the guard-room—no sound was heard but the dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.After a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful and unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to see what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently they heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His face was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word, then or afterwards.In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew what had happened to him that fearful night.The Black Dog has never been seen again.
THE MODDEY DOO OR THE BLACK DOG OF PEEL CASTLE
In the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of Derby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The guard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle and a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches, to the Captain of the Guard’s room. At the end of the day one of the soldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the dark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.About this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog withrough curly hair. He did not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about him. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room and the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage and lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there till the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into the passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a time they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear, though they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While he was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words were spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain, two of them would always go together—no man would face the dark passage alone.One night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good for him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the dog. It was not histurn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was he said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.‘Let him come,’ he shouted, laughing; ‘I’ll see whether he be dog or devil!’His friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched up the keys and went out into the passage.The Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.There was a dead silence in the guard-room—no sound was heard but the dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.After a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful and unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to see what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently they heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His face was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word, then or afterwards.In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew what had happened to him that fearful night.The Black Dog has never been seen again.
In the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of Derby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The guard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle and a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches, to the Captain of the Guard’s room. At the end of the day one of the soldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the dark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.
About this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog withrough curly hair. He did not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about him. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room and the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage and lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there till the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into the passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a time they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear, though they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While he was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words were spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain, two of them would always go together—no man would face the dark passage alone.
One night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good for him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the dog. It was not histurn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was he said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.
‘Let him come,’ he shouted, laughing; ‘I’ll see whether he be dog or devil!’
His friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched up the keys and went out into the passage.
The Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.
There was a dead silence in the guard-room—no sound was heard but the dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.
After a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful and unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to see what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently they heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His face was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word, then or afterwards.In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew what had happened to him that fearful night.
The Black Dog has never been seen again.
LITTLE RED BIRDLittle red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the briar,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the bush,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night between two leavesAs a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,And oh! what a peaceful sleep!An old Manx Lullaby.
LITTLE RED BIRDLittle red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the briar,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the bush,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night between two leavesAs a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,And oh! what a peaceful sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the briar,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the bush,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,And oh! what a wretched sleep!Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night between two leavesAs a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,And oh! what a peaceful sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the briar,And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,
Where did you sleep last night?
I slept last night on the top of the briar,
And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the top of the bush,And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,
Where did you sleep last night?
I slept last night on the top of the bush,
And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,
Where did you sleep last night?
I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,
And oh! what a wretched sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,Where did you sleep last night?I slept last night between two leavesAs a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,And oh! what a peaceful sleep!
Little red bird of the black turf ground,
Where did you sleep last night?
I slept last night between two leaves
As a babe ’twixt two blankets quite at ease,
And oh! what a peaceful sleep!
An old Manx Lullaby.
An old Manx Lullaby.
TEHI TEGILong hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made herself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like for beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she went out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget to sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off the trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till she went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men, the poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo her, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to leave her. They forgot everything else in the world—all sorrow and care, home and country, till at last everything in the island cameto a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch chose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither ploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither built nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their fields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of pasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange stillness throughout the island—no children’s voices were to be heard anywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer, ‘An’ maybe I will,’ and then she would say the same to the next. So they spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made slaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:‘Saddle me my horse, for I’ve a mind to ride.’So they brought her milk-white horseshod with shoes of gold, with bit of gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl and saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her golden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.‘I’m going,’ said she, ‘to the country for the day, and you can follow me on foot if you like.’She rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes, where blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the hedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with stones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of them by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth, and then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny nettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills shining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams ran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower, to the blue sea.At last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river, and she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and clear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely covered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she took off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed up the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself and rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse turned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam away out to sea and was never more seen.From that time the wise men of the island made their women go on foot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no such accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first, anyone who saw her cried out ‘Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!’
TEHI TEGI
Long hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made herself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like for beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she went out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget to sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off the trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till she went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men, the poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo her, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to leave her. They forgot everything else in the world—all sorrow and care, home and country, till at last everything in the island cameto a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch chose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither ploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither built nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their fields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of pasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange stillness throughout the island—no children’s voices were to be heard anywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer, ‘An’ maybe I will,’ and then she would say the same to the next. So they spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made slaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:‘Saddle me my horse, for I’ve a mind to ride.’So they brought her milk-white horseshod with shoes of gold, with bit of gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl and saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her golden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.‘I’m going,’ said she, ‘to the country for the day, and you can follow me on foot if you like.’She rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes, where blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the hedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with stones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of them by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth, and then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny nettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills shining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams ran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower, to the blue sea.At last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river, and she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and clear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely covered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she took off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed up the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself and rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse turned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam away out to sea and was never more seen.From that time the wise men of the island made their women go on foot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no such accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first, anyone who saw her cried out ‘Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!’
Long hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made herself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like for beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she went out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget to sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off the trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till she went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men, the poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo her, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to leave her. They forgot everything else in the world—all sorrow and care, home and country, till at last everything in the island cameto a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch chose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither ploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither built nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their fields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of pasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange stillness throughout the island—no children’s voices were to be heard anywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer, ‘An’ maybe I will,’ and then she would say the same to the next. So they spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made slaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:
‘Saddle me my horse, for I’ve a mind to ride.’
So they brought her milk-white horseshod with shoes of gold, with bit of gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl and saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her golden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.
‘I’m going,’ said she, ‘to the country for the day, and you can follow me on foot if you like.’
She rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes, where blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the hedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with stones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of them by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth, and then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny nettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills shining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams ran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower, to the blue sea.
At last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river, and she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and clear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely covered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she took off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed up the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself and rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse turned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam away out to sea and was never more seen.
From that time the wise men of the island made their women go on foot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no such accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first, anyone who saw her cried out ‘Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!’