Thee, Lady, would I lead through Fairy-land
(Whence cold and doubting reasoners are exiled),
A land of dreams, with air-built castles piled;
The moonlight shefros there, in merry band
With arful cluricaune, should ready stand
To welcome thee – Imagination’s child!
Till on thy ear would burst so sadly wild
The banshee’s shriek, who points with wither’d hand
In the dim twilight should the phooka come,
Whose dusky form fades in the sunny light,
That opens clear calm lakes upon thy sight,
Where blessed spirts dwell in endless bloom.
I know thee, Lady, thou wilt not deride
Such Fairy Scenes. Then onward with thy Guide.