Changelings
The Changeling Child
The wind blows low and mournful
Through the Strath of Dalnacreich
Where once there lived a woman
Who would a mother be
For twelve long years a good man's wife
But ne'er the cradle filled
A mother of a changeling child from 'neath the fairy hill
She traveled to the standing stones
And crossed into the green
Where all the host of elven folk
Were dancing there unseen
Through the night she bargained
With the Queen of fairies all
Who sent her home at dawning with a babe beneath her shawl
How their home was joyful
With a son to call their own
But soon they saw the years that passed
Would never make him grow
The fairies would not answer her
The stones were dark and slept
A babe was all she asked for, and their promises they'd kept
The wind blows low and mournful
Through the Strath of Dalnacreich
Where once there lived a woman
Who would a mother be
For fifty years she rocked that babe
It's said she rocks him still
A mother of a changeling child from 'neath the fairy hill
--Heather Dale
The Gabriel Hounds ℗ 2008 Amphisbaena Music
Stolen Child
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
By far off furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
{W.B Yeats} (Loreena McKennitt)