King of the Faeries

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen
We darn't go a hunting
For fear of little men
Wee folk, good folk
Trooping all together
Green jacket, red cap
And white owl's feather

By the craggy hillside
Through the mosses bare
They have planted thorn trees
For pleasure here and there
Is any man so daring
As to dig them up in spite
He'll find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen
We darn't go a hunting
For fear of little men
Wee folk, good folk
Trooping all together