Thubber-Na-Shie; or, The Fairy Well
[Amongst the many old and fanciful superstitions embodied in the traditions of our peasantry, some of the most poetical are those connected with spring wells, which in Ireland have been invested with something of a sacred character ever since the days of Druidical worship. It is in some parts of the country an article of popular belief, that the desecration of a spring by any unworthy use is followed invariably by some misfortune to the offender; and that the well itself, which is regarded as the source of fruitfulness and prosperity, moves altogether out of the fields in which the violation has been committed.—Dublin University Magazine, vol. viii., p. 449.]
Oh! Peggy Bawn was innocent,
And wild as any roe;
Her cheek was like the summer rose,
Her neck was like the snow:
And every eye was in her head
So beautiful and bright,
You’d almost think they’d light her through
Glencarrigy by night.
Among the hills and mountains,
Above her mother’s home,
The long and weary summer day
Young Peggy Blake would roam;
And not a girl in all the town,
From Dhua to Glenlur,
Could wander through the mountain’s heath
Or climb the rocks with her.
The Lammas sun was shinin’ on
The meadows all so brown;
The neighbours gathered far and near
To cut the ripe crops down;
And pleasant was the mornin’,
And dewy was the dawn,
And gay and lightsome-hearted
To the sunny fields they’re gone.
The joke was passing lightly,
And the laugh was loud and free;
There was neither care nor trouble
To disturb their hearty glee;
When, says Peggy, resting in among
The sweet and scented hay,
“I wonder is there one would brave
The Fairy well to-day!”
She looked up with her laughin’ eyes,
So soft at Willy Rhu;
Och murdher! that she didn’t need
His warnin’ kind and true!
But all the boys and girls laughed,
And Willy Rhu looked shy;
God help you, Willy! sure they saw
The throuble in your eye.
“Now, by my faith!” young Connell says—
“I like your notion well—
There’s a power more than gospel
In what crazy gossips tell.”
Oh, my heavy hatred fall upon
Young Connell of Sliabh-Mast!
He took the cruel vengeance
For his scorned love at last.
The jokin’ and the jibin’
And the banterin’ went on,
One girl dared another,
And they all dared Peggy Bawn.
Till, leaping up, away she flew
Down to the hollow green—
Her bright locks, floating in the wind,
Like golden lights were seen.
They saw her at the Fairy-well—
Their laughin’ died away,
They saw her stoop above its brink
With heart as cold as clay.
Oh! mother, mother, never stand
Upon your cabin floor!
You heard the cry that through your heart
Will ring for evermore;
For when she came up from the well,
No one could stand her look:
Her eye was wild—her cheek was pale—
They saw her mind was shook:
And the gaze she cast around her
Was so ghastly and so sad—
“O Christ preserve us!” shouted all,
“Poor Peggy Blake’s gone mad!”
The moon was up—the stars were out,
And shining through the sky,
When young and old stood mourning round
To see their darling die.
Poor Peggy from her death-bed rose—
Her face was pale and cold,
And down about her shoulders hung
The lovely locks of gold.
“All you that’s here this night,” she said,
“Take warnin’ by my fate,
Whoever braves the Fairies’ wrath,
Their sorrow comes too late.”
The tear was startin’ in her eye,
She clasp’d her throbbin’ head,
And when the sun next mornin’ rose
Poor Peggy Bawn was dead.
James Teeling.