The "King of the Faeries" on the DT has, as Alice points out, no real connection with the set-dance tune. Though the entry describes it as "Irish Traditional", it is in fact three verses of William Allingham's poem, "The Fairies" (publ. 1850), chopped about a bit and given the wrong title. I believe that a band called "The Irish Rovers" did at some point set those words to "The King of the Fairies", though it does seem rather an odd thing to do; presumably that's how part of the poem found its way into the DT. For the record, and in case it is any use to anyone, here is the full text of Allingham's poem:
THE FAIRIES
(William Allingham, 1824-1889)
Up the airy mountain,
Down 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!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watchdogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately joumeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down 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!
Malcolm
KING OF THE FAERIES (DT Lyrics - truncated version of lyrics above)
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.
Trad. Irish
@Irish @myth
filename[ KINGFAER
CH
Irish Robers recording: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZvbu4S5pE0