Original instrumental inspired by the Yeats poem of the same name. Haunting tune on Celtic harp, oboe, bassoon, strings. No relation to the Loreena McKennitt song. Credit to Steph Polek, my sister, who wrote the tune.

» highest in charts:   # 268   (60,239 songs currently listed in World)
» highest in sub-genre:   # 5   (1,925 songs currently listed in World > Traditional Celtic)

My sister Stephanie wrote the beautiful tune around the Yeats poem of the same name (see lyrics). My version is a shorter, slower version than her original and only includes two verses. I'm still trying to convince her to record her own full version or do a collaboration with me! You can hear a dilapidated cassette clip of Steph's original demo here to compare.

(For those who want the lyrics this song was written for, though my version is only two verses and instrumental. I've matched my tune to verse 1. I have a fuller version of the song, written by my sister Steph Polek, that I've yet to record, which matches all verses... one day.)

THE STOLEN CHILD by William Butler Yeats

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 we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of the reddest stolen cherries.

REFRAIN
Come away, O human child!
To the wood and waters 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.

REF

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
We give them evil dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Of dew on the young streams.

REF

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.

REF VARIATION
For he comes, the human child,
To the wood and waters wild.
With a faery, hand in hand,
for the world's more full of weeping
than he can understand!