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Paula K. Lynchmp3.com/Paula_Lynch

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    "The Stolen Child"genre: Celtic
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    Gentle, pensive Celtic song whose melody rhythms were inspired by the Yeats poem of the same name. Features Celtic harp, violin, cello, oboe, bassoon, and acoustic guitar. (No relation to the Loreena McKennitt song.)
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    MP3.com CD: A Wee Bit O' Celtica - buy it!buy it!
    Credits: Paula K. Lynch & Stephanie S. Polek

    Story Behind the Song
    Poem has beautiful lyrical quality, so we set it to music -- sans lyrics. Neither of us can sing well!

    Lyrics
    Where dips the rocky highland
    Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
    There lies a leafy island
    Where flapping herons wake
    The drowsy water-rats;
    There they've hid their faery vats,
    Full of berries
    And of reddest stolen chetries.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you
    can understand.

    Where the wave of moonlight glosses
    The dim grey sands with light,
    Far off by furthest Rosses
    We foot it all the night,
    Weaving olden dances,
    Mingling hands and mingling glances
    Till the moon has taken flight;
    To and fro we leap
    And chase the frothy bubbles,
    While the world is full of troubles
    And is anxious in its sleep.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's morefully of weeping than you
    can understand.

    Where the wandering water gushes
    From the hills above Glen-Car,.
    In pools among the rushes
    That scarce could bathe a star,
    We seek for slumbering trout
    And whispering in their ears
    Give them unquiet dreams;
    Leaning softly out
    From ferns that drop their tears
    Over the young streams.
    Come away, O human child!
    To to waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For to world's morefully of weeping than you
    can understand.

    Away with us he's going,
    The solemn-eyed:
    He'll hear no more the lowing
    Of the calves on the warm hillside
    Or the kettle on the hob
    Sing peace into his breast,
    Or see the brown mice bob
    Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
    For be comes, the human child,
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    from a world more full of weeping than you can understand.

    (My version of the song includes only two verses.)

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