Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
Bridget walks a-chanting
Not heeding little men;
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
For pleasure here and there.
They come stealing people
On cold starry nights,
Make them sup with Queen
And drink forgetfulness.
Bridget stepped the circle
seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
Sa tao fiose,
Ale-ar, ale-ar, ale-ar
Sa fols intolio-o
Ale-ar, ale-ar
Down along willowy banks
Bridget’s new home,
Scarlet berries, crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
They took her lightly back
Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of fled leaves,
Waiting till she wakes.
Will she ever wake? - No!
Will she ever wake? - No!
Will she ever wake? - No!
Faeries stole Bridget...
