Ever after their tunes
ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was.
ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was.
Yeats
Snatching the knife from the child, they cut the hand off
with a blow. The faery was never again seen. He drew his bleeding arm
into the earth, thinking, as it is recorded, he had lost his hand
through the treachery of the child.
In Scotland you are too theological, too gloomy. You have made even
the Devil religious. 'Where do you live, good-wyf, and how is the
minister? ' he said to the witch when he met her on the high-road, as it
came out in the trial. You have burnt all the witches. In Ireland we
have left them alone. To be sure, the 'loyal minority' knocked out the
eye of one with a cabbage-stump on the 31st of March, 1711, in the town
of Carrickfergus. But then the 'loyal minority' is half Scottish. You
have discovered the faeries to be pagan and wicked. You would like to
have them all up before the magistrate. In Ireland warlike mortals have
gone amongst them, and helped them in their battles, and they in turn
have taught men great skill with herbs, and permitted some few to hear
their tunes. Carolan slept upon a faery rath.
Ever after their tunes
ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was. In Scotland
you have denounced them from the pulpit. In Ireland they have been
permitted by the priests to consult them on the state of their souls.
Unhappily the priests have decided that they have no souls, that they
will dry up like so much bright vapour at the last day; but more in
sadness in anger have they said it. The Catholic religion likes to keep
on good terms with its neighbours.
These two different ways of looking at things have influenced in each
country the whole world of sprites and goblins. For their gay and
graceful doings you must go to Ireland; for their deeds of terror
to Scotland. Our Irish faery terrors have about them something of
make-believe. When a peasant strays into an enchanted hovel, and is
made to turn a corpse all night on a spit before the fire, we do not
feel anxious; we know he will wake in the midst of a green field, the
dew on his old coat. In Scotland it is altogether different. You have
soured the naturally excellent disposition of ghosts and goblins. The
piper M'Crimmon, of the Hebrides, shouldered his pipes, and marched
into a sea cavern, playing loudly, and followed by his dog. For a
long time the people could hear the pipes. He must have gone nearly a
mile, when they heard the sound of a struggle. Then the piping ceased
suddenly. Some time went by, and then his dog came out of the cavern
completely flayed, too weak even to howl.
with a blow. The faery was never again seen. He drew his bleeding arm
into the earth, thinking, as it is recorded, he had lost his hand
through the treachery of the child.
In Scotland you are too theological, too gloomy. You have made even
the Devil religious. 'Where do you live, good-wyf, and how is the
minister? ' he said to the witch when he met her on the high-road, as it
came out in the trial. You have burnt all the witches. In Ireland we
have left them alone. To be sure, the 'loyal minority' knocked out the
eye of one with a cabbage-stump on the 31st of March, 1711, in the town
of Carrickfergus. But then the 'loyal minority' is half Scottish. You
have discovered the faeries to be pagan and wicked. You would like to
have them all up before the magistrate. In Ireland warlike mortals have
gone amongst them, and helped them in their battles, and they in turn
have taught men great skill with herbs, and permitted some few to hear
their tunes. Carolan slept upon a faery rath.
Ever after their tunes
ran in his head, and made him the great musician he was. In Scotland
you have denounced them from the pulpit. In Ireland they have been
permitted by the priests to consult them on the state of their souls.
Unhappily the priests have decided that they have no souls, that they
will dry up like so much bright vapour at the last day; but more in
sadness in anger have they said it. The Catholic religion likes to keep
on good terms with its neighbours.
These two different ways of looking at things have influenced in each
country the whole world of sprites and goblins. For their gay and
graceful doings you must go to Ireland; for their deeds of terror
to Scotland. Our Irish faery terrors have about them something of
make-believe. When a peasant strays into an enchanted hovel, and is
made to turn a corpse all night on a spit before the fire, we do not
feel anxious; we know he will wake in the midst of a green field, the
dew on his old coat. In Scotland it is altogether different. You have
soured the naturally excellent disposition of ghosts and goblins. The
piper M'Crimmon, of the Hebrides, shouldered his pipes, and marched
into a sea cavern, playing loudly, and followed by his dog. For a
long time the people could hear the pipes. He must have gone nearly a
mile, when they heard the sound of a struggle. Then the piping ceased
suddenly. Some time went by, and then his dog came out of the cavern
completely flayed, too weak even to howl.
