King of the Fairies [Finnish translation]

Up the airy mountain, through the rushy glen

We daren't go a-hunting for fear of little men.

Wee folk, good folk, trooping all together

Green jacket, red cap and white owl's feather.

By the craggy hillside, through the mosses bare

They've planted thorn trees for pleasure here and there.

Is any man so daring as to dig them up in spite

He'll find the sharpest thorns in his bed at night.

High up on the hill top the old king sits

He's now so old and grey he's nearly lost his wits

He's rising with the music on the cold starry night

To sup with the queen of the gay north light.

• Artist:Irish/Scottish/Celtic Folk
• Album:Celtic Carol Thompson: A Celtic Quest