The Host of Faery
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Now step not near the hollow hill
On nights of mist and shrouded moon
You may hear hooves and harness bells
But look not on the Faery Host.
White shields they carry in their hands
With emblems wrought of silver pale
And two-edged swords that shine blue light
While pure and strong sound battle horns.
In battle lines drawn orderly
They ride aside their chieftain fair
They march to fight amid blue spears
Their milk white horses shod with gold.
They scatter foes like blades of grass
Their lands they ravage, waste and burn
They march to combat - glorious sight!
A swift, avenging, ruthless host.
And strong they are and full of grace
Each one the child of kings and queens
And on the head of one and all
A golden flowing mane of hair.
With smooth and comely face and limb
With bright and piercing blue starred eye
With teeth as crystal, white and strong
With lips as red as drops of blood.
And good are they at slaying men
And sweet are they at ale-house song
And masters are they of the harp
Well skilled are they with knight and pawn.
Now step not near the hollow hill
On nights of mist and shrouded moon
You may hear hooves and harness bells
But look not on the Faery Host.
For if upon the host you light
and not with speed avert your sight;
their thrall shall fall upon you straight,
and twined with them shall lie your fate.
And as they ride, your soul be drawn
along their path, until with dawn
shall hie their host under the hill,
and go you too, whate'er your will.
There shall you stay until the day
when Seelie Court shall lose its sway,
and then, from fairy world exiled,
you'll mourn that loss, with grief futile.
On nights of mist and shrouded moon
You may hear hooves and harness bells
But look not on the Faery Host.
White shields they carry in their hands
With emblems wrought of silver pale
And two-edged swords that shine blue light
While pure and strong sound battle horns.
In battle lines drawn orderly
They ride aside their chieftain fair
They march to fight amid blue spears
Their milk white horses shod with gold.
They scatter foes like blades of grass
Their lands they ravage, waste and burn
They march to combat - glorious sight!
A swift, avenging, ruthless host.
And strong they are and full of grace
Each one the child of kings and queens
And on the head of one and all
A golden flowing mane of hair.
With smooth and comely face and limb
With bright and piercing blue starred eye
With teeth as crystal, white and strong
With lips as red as drops of blood.
And good are they at slaying men
And sweet are they at ale-house song
And masters are they of the harp
Well skilled are they with knight and pawn.
Now step not near the hollow hill
On nights of mist and shrouded moon
You may hear hooves and harness bells
But look not on the Faery Host.
For if upon the host you light
and not with speed avert your sight;
their thrall shall fall upon you straight,
and twined with them shall lie your fate.
And as they ride, your soul be drawn
along their path, until with dawn
shall hie their host under the hill,
and go you too, whate'er your will.
There shall you stay until the day
when Seelie Court shall lose its sway,
and then, from fairy world exiled,
you'll mourn that loss, with grief futile.
©Liath Hollins (from the Old Irish translation by Kuno Meyer) and Alexa Duir 2004
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