O I forbid you, maidens a’,
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she’s awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.

Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?

“Carterhaugh, it is my own,
My daddy gave it me,
I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is to her father’s ha,
As fast as she can hie.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then came the fair Janet,
The flower among them a’.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then came the fair Janet,
As green as onie glass.

Out then spake an auld grey knight,
Lay oer the castle wa,
And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee,
But we’ll be blamed a’.

“Haud your tongue, ye auld fac’d knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I’ll father none on thee.”

Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meek and mild,
“And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says,
“I think thou gaest wi child.”

“If that I gae wi child, father,
Mysel maun bear the blame,
There’s neer a laird about your ha,
Shall get the bairn’s name.

“If my love were an earthly knight,
As he’s an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.

“The steed that my true love rides on
Is lighter than the wind,
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she’s awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh,
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till up then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.

“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a’ to kill the bonny babe
That we gat us between?”

“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,
“For’s sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or christendom did see?”

“Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide
And ance it fell upon a day
That wae did me betide.

“And ance it fell upon a day
A cauld day and a snell,
When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell,
The Queen o’ Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill do dwell.

“And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I’m feard it be mysel.

“But the night is Halloween, lady,
The morn is Hallowday,
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.

“Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.”

“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
Or how my true-love know,
Amang sa mony unco knights,
The like I never saw?”

“O first let pass the black, lady,
And syne let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu ye his rider down.

“For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town,
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.

“My right hand will be gloved, lady,
My left hand will be bare,
Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
And kaimed down shall my hair,
And thae’s the takens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, lady,
Into an esk and adder,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I am your bairn’s father.

“They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim,
And then a lion bold,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
And ye shall love your child.

“Again they’ll turn me in your arms
To a red het gand of airn,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I’ll do you nae harm.

“And last they’ll turn me in your arms
Into the burning gleed,
Then throw me into well water,
O throw me in with speed

“And then I’ll be your ain true-love,
I’ll turn a naked knight,
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And hide me out o sight.”

Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.

At the mirk and midnight hour
She heard the bridles sing,
She was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.

First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown,
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.

Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe’s a bird in spring

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
Out of a bush o broom,
“Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately-groom.”

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
“Shame betide her ill-far’d face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight
In a’ my companie.

“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” said she,
“What now this night I see,
I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een,
And put in twa een o tree.”

—  Tam Lin, traditional Ballad as recorded by James Child (1729)

anonymous asked:

Dia duit! 😊 Conas 'tá tú? Cá bhfuil tú i do chónaí?

Dia’s Muire duit, a chara! ♡ Tá mé ceart go leor, go raibh maith agat. Agus tú féin?

Tá mé i mo chónaí i mbaile mbeag in aice le gCill Airne. Is baile beag an-álainn é, agus is baile beag suaithinseach é!

On 20 August 1872, poet William Miller died. Known as “the laureate of the nursery”, Miller wrote mainly children’s verse. He is best remembered for the classic, Wee Willie Winkie.

Miller never managed to make a career solely as a poet and worked as a cabinet-maker and wood turner for most of his life, dying penniless in Glasgow’s East End. However, his memory lingered and public subscription paid for a monument to him in Glasgow’s Necropolis.

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toun,

Up stairs and doon stairs in his nicht-goun,

Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock,

‘Are the weans in their bed, for it’s noo ten o'clock?’

'Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin’ ben?
The cat’s singin’ grey thrums to the sleepin’ hen,
The dog’s spelder’d on the floor, and disna gi'e a cheep,
But here’s a waukrife laddie that winna fa’ asleep!’

Onything but sleep, you rogue! glow'ring like the mune,
Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spune,
Rumblin’, tumblin’ round about, crawin’ like a cock,
Skirlin’ like a kenna-what, wauk'nin’ sleepin’ fock.

'Hey, Willie Winkie - the wean’s in a creel!
Wambling aff a bodie’s knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and ravelin’ a’ her thrums
Hey, Willie Winkie - see, there he comes!’

Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee stumple stoussie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi’ sleep before he’ll close an ee
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.

Meaning of unusual words:
spelderd=spread out
waukrife laddie=insomniac boy
Skirlin’=shrieking with excitement
kenna-what=something or other
creel=deep basket
stumple stoussie=short, sturdy child

Faerie Ransoms || Airn x Amanda


Willful. She knew of Faerie but expected a straight answer. Airn’s grin widened. “Apologies, m’lady, for the misunderstanding.”

Even though he apologized his grin and obvious amusement at the whole thing made her think the exact opposite of him. She doubted that he was sorry at all. Amanda brought in a deep breath of air before she looked away from him for the first time since they started talking. She took in her immediate surroundings, anyone else there, and looked for anything that looked familiar. 

A moment more and then she looked back at Airn. She hugged the cloth that had been wrapped around her shoulders tight, brushing wet hair out her face. “Am I guessing right that your belief in thinking you can take what ever you want, is going to completely ignore my desire to go home?”

Scavenger Hunt

It was a lazy day in the Great Hall. The sort of day that made most of the Lords and Ladies yearn for open sea. Despite being Fomoire, though, they knew their duty. And sometimes that duty was listening to droning and hoping for a brawl to break out.

Lord Captain Airn Rhymer sat with his hat cocked low over his eyes, his feet propped on the table in front of him. He really should’ve brought Genevieve today. At least then he’d have a distraction from whatever was being said.

When the doors slammed open, every head perked up, ready for some excitement. The messenger who sprinted in was buzzing, far too excited to observe courtly procedure like knocking. Or like making sure he got his message to the spymistress instead of blurting it in childlike joy.

“Balor’s eye! They’ve found Balor’s eye!”

Not a breath. Not a single breath. As if they’d all suddenly been plunged beneath the waves. Personally, Airn felt a chill of cold, then hot, his vision spinning along with his mind. Balor’s eye. Their legacy. Practically the soul of their people. Found?

Lord Alasai grabbed the vibrating runner by the scruff of his neck, yanking him close. “Where?”

Now the spy began to consider, his thoughts catching up to him. He’d just yelled that he knew the location of the greatest treasure known to Fomoire to a pack of wolves desperate for a hunt. Still no one breathed, though most had leaned forward, picked up hats, subtle little movements of preparation.

“I…I shouldn’t…” the boy tried lamely.

Alasai drew a hooked blade and the spy squeezed his eyes shut, apparently deciding he’d rather dodge punishment later than face pain now.

“In the mortal realm! A girl! A girl has it! A place called Chicago!”

Alasai tossed the runner to the floor, sprinting for the door with the entire Fomorian Court on his heels.

Who Battle With The Deep

Smuggling was possibly his least favorite activity. Second only to slave transport. At least smuggling didn’t involve things that could bite and scream and cry and generally disturb his day. Usually. But it was just so dull. Still, these things had to be done, so here they were, knee deep in briny, carting crates out of the cache and into the longboat. It was hard work and so the captain was in amongst the crew, stripped of jacket and boots, tossing chests of dragon bone and griffon feather and other paraphernalia from poached beasts. Along with a cask or two of stolen dwarven ale that the northern tribeland lords craved enough to pay a king’s ransom for.

The sea cave stash had to be emptied before the tide came in, but none of the crew batted an eye or showed an inch of panic that the tunnel could suddenly rush with water. They were all strong swimmers and remembered the way out. It was mostly quiet, until one of the crew would begin to hum a shanty and the rest took it up with low vibrating harmonies usually reserved for ancient choirs. Occasionally a joke would be muttered and laughter would burst, but for the most part they were professionals and they all wanted to be done quick and back to their day.

With the last of the bounty tripping along down the line of pirates, Airn emerged back into sunlight and stretched once, feeling tense muscle ease in the fresh balmy air. His flagship floated in the visible distance, dominating the skyline, anchored and waiting. Some of the longboats had begun their trek back to her, the rest lingering near the beach as they were loaded. A nearby sailor handed him a flask and Airn eased his gaze to the side enough to spot a change in scenery from when they’d arrived at the cove.

A figure, willow-curved and tall–and not so far away that he’d need a spyglass to tell she was as lovely as she was misplaced. There was a fishing village in the bay not half a league behind him, but only the quickest nixies dared play on this particular stretch of shore. Too many tales. Whispered rumors. Too much blood in the sand. The traveler’s skin was even paler than the white beach beneath her, odd in a place where the sun shone hot and most spent every minute of every day under the beating rays.

What a treasure.

“Cap’n, we’re set.”

Airn didn’t turn to acknowledge the information, still leaning on his elbow against the mouth of the cave, flask held loose and dark eyes intent. Eventually, the sailor who’d spoken stepped up beside him to see what the captain saw.

“Want I should get some of the lads to grab her?”

Airn took a breath, as if considering, then sighed it out in refusal. “I’ll go alone. No one sunbathes on this beach. She’s either ignorant, or too powerful to care. I’m going to see which it is.”

He started off without any further fanfare, dressed only in a loose shirt and tighter breeches. Simpler than most Pirate Lords would be upon approaching outsiders. But his hat and jacket and weapon belts were away back on the Tempest and he liked the feel of warm sand on bare feet.

“Without your sword, Cap'n?”

Airn paused in his stride and turned, very slowly, to level a warning glare. It was an idiotic question, akin to grabbing a king by the arm, and the sailor shrank visibly and gave a quick nod, eyes averted to the ground.

“Aye, Cap'n. Of course. We’ll have everything squared in the hold by the time you get back.”

Unworried about that truth, Airn was busy rethinking his strategy a bit. He peeled the iron chain from around his neck and the ring from his finger, tossing both back toward the sailor, who looked up just in time to catch them nimbly. The boy’s jaw tightened in pain as he gripped the items, but he made not a sound when he frowned in confusion at his leader.

The captain grinned. “Wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression, would we?”

And then he strolled on, breathing even deeper without his weights.