And folk to come, ayont the sea, May hear the yowl of the Banshie, And frae the water-kelpie flee, Ere a’ things cease, And island bairns may stolen be By the Folk o’ Peace. Faith, they might steal _me_, wi’ ma will, And, ken’d I ony Fairy hill, I’d lay me down there, snod and still, Their land to win, For, man, I’ve maistly had my fill O’ this world’s din. The Fairy Minister. IN MEMORY OF THE REV. ROBERT KIRK, _WHO WENT TO HIS OWN HERD_, AND ENTERED INTO THE LAND OF THE PEOPLE OF PEACE, IN THE YEAR OF GRACE SIXTEEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-TWO, AND OF HIS AGE FIFTY-TWO. People of Peace! A peaceful man, Well worthy of your love was he, Who, while the roaring Garry ran Red with the life-blood of Dundee, While coats were turning, crowns were falling, Wandered along his valley still, And heard your mystic voices calling From fairy knowe and haunted hill. He heard, he saw, he knew too well The secrets of your fairy clan; You stole him from the haunted dell, Who never more was seen of man. Now far from heaven, and safe from hell, Unknown of earth, he wanders free. Would that he might return and tell Of his mysterious company! For we have tired the Folk of Peace; No more they tax our corn and oil; Their dances on the moorland cease, The Brownie stints his wonted toil. No more shall any shepherd meet The ladies of the fairy clan, Nor are their deathly kisses sweet On lips of any earthly man. And half I envy him who now, Clothed in her Court’s enchanted green, By moonlit loch or mountain’s brow Is Chaplain to the Fairy Queen. A. L. KIRK’S SECRET COMMONWEALTH. INTRODUCTION. I. THE HISTORY OF THE BOOK AND AUTHOR.