The most renowned faerie occupation
is the making of such sweet music that only that of the angels singing
the praises of Heaven's king can compare. The strains of the faerie harp,
which tear the heart with a longing few mortals can endure, are wild and
melancholic. Each note excites desire; and since music moves forward in
time, unlike a painting which can be contemplated at leisure, no mortal
can embrace nor be wholly ravished by its sounds, which tease him then
leave him all the more desperate in his frustrated desire to possess. Even
though the music rends his vitals, he cannot choose but to listen and exult
in his beauteous destructions; and if those strains were to stop, he would
die with desire to hear them once more. He loses memory of love and hate,
forgets all mortal things and hears nothing but faerie music until the
spell is broken and he dies.
Few
mortals are equal to immortal desire; yet a rare few have revelled in Sídhe
music and, exultant, brought back those blinding sweet tunes to the mortal
realm. Turlough O'Carolan, the last of the great Irish bards, slept one
evening upon a faerie rath and ever after the songs of the Sídhe
run wild in his head, and wild and sweet they sprang from his lips. The
few faerie tunes we have, like the "Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow",
are gifts to us from such intrepid eavesdroppers.
'Come with us to the land of delight and rest' play the faerie musicians
with fiddles and pipes and drums, and none can resist. They come gliding
over fields without bending the grass, crossing rivers without wetting
their feet. Being nationalistic, the faeries enjoy praising their home;
the music blithely skips from the fiddle, compelling all, man beast and
faerie, to see for themselves the joys of Tír-na-n-Óg, the
ultimate faerieland. Such is the desire, but the delightful destination
is not so readily reached; for the music vanishes leaving man and horse
standing bewildered in the midst of a stream.
Mortals
are always sensitive to the music of the Sídhe. One morning a mother
found her infant son in the craddle lustily playing the bagpipes. She knew
at once that it was no child and not her own. Wild through the village
the music tumbled and not a mortal could stir nor move his lips for charmed
were his will and his senses.
But whereas faerie music oftentimes paralyzes mortal bodies, it
alway animates those of the Sídhe. Any who pass a rath at night
will see them at it in true Irish fashion: their bodies straight as a sapling,
but from the knees down they are as quick as a stream. In a ring they dance
until the grass and their shoes are worn; and the next morning the tack-tack
of the leprechaun's hammer echoes from the hills.
Source: Carolyn White "A History of Irish Fairies"