Thee, Lady, would I lead through Fairy-land
(Whence cold and doubting reasoners are exiled),
A land of dreams, with air-built castles piled;
The moonlight shefros there, in merry band
With arful cluricaune, should ready stand
To welcome thee – Imagination’s child!
Till on thy ear would burst so sadly wild
The banshee’s shriek, who points with wither’d hand
In the dim twilight should the phooka come,
Whose dusky form fades in the sunny light,
That opens clear calm lakes upon thy sight,
Where blessed spirts dwell in endless bloom.
I know thee, Lady, thou wilt not deride
Such Fairy Scenes. Then onward with thy Guide.

Crofton-Croker, I,xv

And now, farewell! The fairy dream is o’er:

The tales my infancy had loved to hear,

Like blissful visions, fade and disappear.

Such tales Momonia’s peasant tells no more!

Vanish’d are mermaids from her sea-beat shore;

Check’d is the headless horseman’s strange career;

Fir darrig’s voice no longer mocks the ear

Nor rocks bear wonderous imprints as of yore!

Such is ‘the march of mind.’ But did the fays

Creatures of whim — the gossamers of will)

In Ireland work such sorrow and such ill

As stormier spirits of our modern days?

Oh land beloved! No angry voice I raise;

My constant prayer — ‘may peace be with thee still’!

Crofton-Croker, II,327

Editor’s Note: This narrative was taken down verbatim from the lips of a poor cottager in the county Limerick, by Miss Maria Dickson, 22nd April, 1825.

Biddy Purcell was as clean and as clever a girl as you would see in any of the seven parishes. She was just eighteen when she was whipped away from us, as some say; and I’ll tell you how it was. Biddy Purcell and myself, that’s her sister, and more girls with us, went one day, ’twas Sunday too, after hearing mass, to pick rushes in the bog that’s under the old castle. Well, just as we were coming through Carrig gate, a small child, just like one of them little craythurs you see out there, came behind her, and gave her a little bit of a tip with a kippen [a switch] a between the two shoulders. Just then she got a pain in the small of her back, and out through her heart, as if she was struck [fairy struck]; we only made game of her, and began to laugh; for sure that much wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a Christian. Well, when we got to the bog, some went here, and more there, everywhere, up and down, for ’twas a good big place, and Biddy was in one corner, with not one along with her, or near her, only just herself. She had picked a good bundle of rushes, and while she was tying them in her apron, up came an old woman to her, and a very curious old woman she was. Not one of the neighbours could tell who she was from poor Biddy’s account, nor ever saw or heard tell of the likes of her before or since. So she looks at the rushes, and, ‘Biddy Purcell’, says she, ‘give me some of them rushes.’ Biddy was afeard of her life; but for all that she told her the bog was big enough, and there was plenty more rushes, and to go pick for herself, and not be bothering other people. The word wasn’t out of her mouth, when the old woman got as mad as fire, and gave her such a slash across the knees and feet with a little whip that was in her hand, that Biddy was most kilt with the pain. That night Biddy took sick, and what with pains in her heart and out through her knees, she was n’t able to sit nor lie, and had to be kept up standing on the floor, and you’d hear the screeching and bawling of her as far, ay, and farther than Mungret.  Well, our heart was broke with her, and we didn’t know what in the wide world to do, for she was always telling us, that if we had all the money belonging to the master, and to lose it by her, ’twould not do, she knew all along what ailed her; but she wasn’t let tell till a couple of hours before she died, and then she told us she saw a whole heap of fairies, and they riding upon horses under Carrig, and every one of them had girls behind them all to one, and he told her he was waiting for her, and would come for her at such a day, and such an hour, and sure enough ’twas at that day and hour she died. She was just five days sick, and, as I said before, our heart was fairly broke to see the poor craythur, she was so bad. Well, we hear tell of a man that was good to bring back people (so they said), and we went to him. He gave us a bottle full of green herbs, and desired us to boil them on the fire, and if they kept green she was our own, but if they turned yellow, she was gone, the good people had her from us. He bid us to give her the water they were boiled in to drink. When we came home we boiled the herbs, and they turned as yellow as gold in the pot before our eyes. We gave her the water to drink, and five minutes after she took it she died, or whatsomever thing we had in her place died: any how ’twas just like herself, and talked to us just the same as if ’twas our own sister we had there before us. People says she’s down ’long wi’ them [i.e. the fairies]  in the old fort; some says she’ll come back, and more says she won’t, and indeed, faix, there’s no knowing for sartain which to believe, or which way it is. Crofton-Croker, I, 68-71

St. John’s Well, whither Mrs. Dogherty journeyed  to take her rounds, lies at the foot of a hill, about  three miles from Ennis, and dose to it is a rude altar,  at which the superstitious offer up their prayers.  The water of this, like other holy wells, is believed to possess the power of restoring the use of the limbs, curing defective vision, &c. Near the well there is a  small lough, said to be the abode of a strange kind  of fish or mermaid, which used to appear very frequently. This lady of the lake was observed resorting to the cellar of Newhall, the seat of Mr. McDonall.  The butler, perceiving the wine decrease rapidly, determined, with some of his fellow-servants, to watch for the thief, and at last they caught the mermaid in the fact of drinking it. The enraged butler threw her into a chaldron [sic] of boiling water, when she vanished, after uttering three piercing shrieks, leaving only a mass of jelly behind. Since that period, her appearances have been restricted to once in every seven years.  [Crofton-Croker II, 54]

Editor’s Note: Count John de Salis gave these legends and they were written out by Evans-Wentz with the help of Rev J.F. Lynch

The Bean-tighe, the fairy housekeeper of the enchanted submerged castle of the Earl of Desmond, is supposed to appear sitting on an ancient earthen monument shaped like a great chair and hence called Suidheachan, the ‘Housekeeper’s Little Seat,’ on Knock Adoon (Hill of the Fort), which juts out into the Lough. The Bean-tighe, as I have heard an old peasant tell the tale, was once asleep on her Seat, when the Buachailleen or ‘Little Herd Boy’ stole her golden comb. When the Bean-tighe awoke and saw what had happened, she cast a curse upon the cattle of the Buachailleen, and soon all of them were dead, and then the ‘Little Herd Boy’ himself died, but before his death he ordered the golden comb to be cast into the Lough. Evans-Wentz 81-82

The fairies, it seems, liked to have their own way and there are many accounts of their habit of dictating to farmers where they should, or should not, erect buildings. They were also interested in the materials used. A farmer in the parish of Dunboe wanted to build a fence and he took some stones from a nearby rath. As he was collecting the stones, a little man came along and said, ‘You’d be as well to leave the stones where they are.’ The farmer took no notice of the warning and began to build the fence. When it was half-way up, the little man came again, shouting that the farmhouse was on fire. The farmer rushed to the top of the hill, but he saw no fire.  When he returned the fence was pulled down. This happened twice and, when the little man came a third time, the farmer ignored him and continued to build. Shortly after, his son came rushing to tell him that the house had been burned to the ground. It is unlucky to ‘cross’ the fairies. (Foster, Ulster, 78-79)

The fairies, it seems, often helped mortals who were in need. There are many versions of the story of the man or woman who shared a ‘last bite’ with a stranger who was, in fact, a fairy. As a reward, the generous person is told where to find money anytime it is needed; the only condition attached is that they secret must be kept. The money is, indeed, found where the fairy said, but, eventually, the secret is disclosed and the money vanishes.  (Foster, Ulster, 79-80)

In the Mournes, too, they tell a story a fairy-shoe which brings good-luck to the finder. The shoe must not be hidden away, but left where its owner can easily find it and, sure enough, one day the owner comes back for it.  (Foster, Ulster, 80)

There is a story told of a miller in North Wales, Robert Francis, that at the time of the year when he was drying corn he used often to stay up late at night to attend to the fire, as a constant heat was essential. He made, therefore, frequent visits to the mill even past midnight. One night he happened to leave there are large vessel full of water, and on visiting the mill just before retiring he was surprised to see two little people there whom he took to be man and wife busily having a bath. Being a kind-hearted man and not wishing to disturb them, he went back and told his wife. ‘Oh’, she said ‘they are the fairies.’ After the lapse of some time he returned to the mill, but they were gone; they had, however, left the place perfectly clean and in good order, and in addition had left behind them a sum of money. This was not the end, they came again – and brought their friends with them – for the miller had now decided to leave that bathful of water there every night. As their number increased, so did the sum of money left behind. This went on for a long time to the mutual advantage of both parties, until one day the miller was foolish enough to tell his neighbours all about it. At once their visits and money ceased. D. Parry-Jones, Welsh Legends and Fairy Lore, 15-17