She met him out walking the heather moor He was out riding alone In the deep green lane she waited for him Her form was still as stone He came thundering down upon her She turned not a hair on her head She raised a hand to greet him These words to him she said
All hail, Prince of the Sidhe, all hail! Why do you come this way? I seek the maid of the sacred well And to none will I gainsay Why seek ye the maid of the sacred well? To her what would you say? The maid of the moon will be my bride Before the end of the day
What if she does not wish to wed? What if that like betide? What will you do, bold elven prince, If she will not be your bride? Then I will kiss her and will woo I will not turn away I will caress her and will not rue My love will carry the day
Then up in the road with her staff she rose All dressed in raiment fair With silks and furs and precious jewels And ribbons in her hair Then I will be your bride, fair prince I am she of which ye speak No better wooing have I had No better could I seek
Then up behind him has she leapt Her arms around him go Her hair all like the flaming sun Her skin as white as snow He turns and kisses her rosy lips Then turns his stallion's head And into the faery country goes And takes his bride to wed
Copyright Cait McKnelly 2003
Painting:Detail from Riders of the Sidhe by John Duncan, 19th cent.
Scottish artist.
