There's many feet on the moor to-night, and they fall so light as they turn and pass,
So light and true that they shake no dew from the featherfew and the Hungry grass.
I drank no sup and I broke no crumb of their food, but dumb at their feast sat I,
For their dancing feet and their piping sweet, now I sit and greet till I'm like to die.
Oh kind, kind folk, to the words you spoke I shut my ears and I would not hear,
And now all day what my own kin say falls sad and strange on my careless ear —
For I'm listening, listening, all day long to a fairy song that is blown to me,
Over the broom and the canna's bloom, and I know the doom of the Ceol-Sidhe.
I take no care now for bee or bird, for a voice I've heard that is sweeter yet,
My wheel stands idle: at death or bridal apart I stand and my prayers forget.
When Ulick speaks of my wild-rose cheeks, and his kind love seeks out my heart that's cold,
I take no care though he speaks me fair for the new love casts out the love that's old.
I take no care for the blessed prayer, for my mother's hand or my mother's call.
There ever rings in my ear, and sings, a voice more dear and more sweet than all.
Cold, cold's my breast, and broke's my rest, and O it's blest to be dead I'd be,
Held safe and fast from the fairy blast, and deaf at last to the Ceol-Sidhe!
Nora Hopper Chesson’s The Fairy Music is a hauntingly beautiful poem that delves into the perilous allure of the supernatural and its power to sever human connections. Drawing from Irish folklore, Chesson crafts a lyrical lament that explores themes of enchantment, alienation, and the irrevocable loss of self to an otherworldly obsession. The poem’s speaker, ensnared by the Ceol-Sidhe (fairy music), becomes a tragic figure, caught between the tangible world of human relationships and the irresistible call of the unseen. Through rich imagery, musicality, and emotional intensity, Chesson captures the destructive ecstasy of fairy enchantment, positioning the poem within a broader tradition of Celtic literary revival while also engaging with universal human fears of obsession and disconnection.
To fully appreciate The Fairy Music, one must situate it within the late 19th and early 20th-century Celtic Revival, a movement that sought to reclaim and celebrate Irish mythology, folklore, and cultural identity. Writers such as W.B. Yeats, Lady Gregory, and Douglas Hyde were instrumental in this revival, collecting and reimagining traditional tales of the Sidhe (the fairy folk) for a modern audience. Nora Hopper Chesson, though less widely remembered today, was an important contributor to this literary movement. Her work often explored the intersection of human and fairy worlds, portraying the Sidhe not as benign sprites but as dangerous, amoral beings whose beauty masks peril.
The Ceol-Sidhe—the fairy music—is a recurring motif in Irish folklore, believed to lure humans into the fairy realm, often with tragic consequences. Those who hear it are said to lose all desire for mortal life, wasting away in longing or disappearing entirely into the fairy world. Chesson’s poem taps into this deep-seated cultural anxiety, presenting the fairy music as an irresistible force that erodes human will and severs familial and romantic bonds.
The central theme of The Fairy Music is the peril of enchantment—the idea that beauty and art can be as dangerous as they are captivating. The speaker is not merely an observer of the fairy revelry but an unwilling participant, drawn in despite her resistance:
I drank no sup and I broke no crumb of their food, but dumb at their feast sat I,
Her initial refusal to partake in fairy offerings suggests an awareness of their danger, yet her passive presence at their feast marks the beginning of her undoing. The fairies’ “dancing feet and their piping sweet” become an obsession, drowning out the voices of her kin. The poem thus explores the tension between human agency and supernatural compulsion—can one resist the call of the sublime, even when it leads to ruin?
As the fairy music takes hold, the speaker becomes increasingly detached from her mortal life. The poem’s second stanza emphasizes this growing estrangement:
Oh kind, kind folk, to the words you spoke I shut my ears and I would not hear,
Her rejection of human kindness is not born of malice but of an overwhelming fixation on the fairy song. The phrase "falls sad and strange on my careless ear" suggests that mortal speech has lost its meaning—what was once familiar now seems foreign. This alienation extends to romantic and familial bonds:
I take no care for the blessed prayer, for my mother’s hand or my mother’s call.
The speaker’s indifference to her mother’s prayers is particularly poignant, as maternal bonds in Irish culture are traditionally sacred. Her detachment signifies a complete rupture from human society, reinforcing the idea that fairy enchantment does not merely add to one’s experience but replaces it entirely.
The poem’s closing lines reveal the speaker’s despair:
Cold, cold’s my breast, and broke’s my rest, and O it’s blest to be dead I’d be,
Held safe and fast from the fairy blast, and deaf at last to the Ceol-Sidhe!
Here, death is framed not as an end but as a release—a way to escape the torment of unfulfillable desire. The speaker does not wish to join the fairies but to be free of their song entirely. This sentiment echoes the tragic fate of many figures in Celtic mythology who, once touched by the supernatural, can never fully return to human life. The poem thus becomes a meditation on the impossibility of reconciling two worlds: once the fairy music is heard, there is no going back.
Chesson’s use of sound and rhythm mirrors the very enchantment she describes. The poem’s meter and alliteration create a hypnotic effect, mimicking the fairy music:
There's many feet on the moor to-night, and they fall so light as they turn and pass,
The repetition of soft consonants (f, s, l) evokes the delicate, almost imperceptible movement of the fairies. The musicality of the poem ensures that the reader, like the speaker, is drawn into its cadence, experiencing the allure of the Ceol-Sidhe on a visceral level.
The moor, the "featherfew," and the "Hungry Grass" (a mythical plant said to induce insatiable hunger in those who tread upon it) ground the poem in a specifically Irish landscape. These elements serve a dual purpose: they root the poem in folklore while also symbolizing the speaker’s psychological state. The "Hungry Grass" in particular mirrors her own insatiable longing—just as the grass creates an unquenchable hunger, the fairy music creates an unending desire.
The speaker’s emotional descent is marked by a shift from warmth to coldness. Initially, she is part of a human community ("my own kin"), but as the poem progresses, her heart grows cold:
My wheel stands idle... my heart that’s cold.
This imagery of coldness culminates in the final stanza ("Cold, cold’s my breast"), reinforcing her emotional and spiritual isolation. The contrast between the warmth of human connection and the coldness of fairy obsession underscores the poem’s tragedy—the speaker is still alive but no longer truly living.
The Fairy Music resonates with other literary works that explore the dangers of enchantment. Keats’ La Belle Dame sans Merci similarly depicts a knight ensnared by a fairy woman, left "alone and palely loitering" after his encounter. Both poems suggest that the supernatural, while beautiful, is ultimately destructive to mortal life.
Philosophically, the poem can be read through the lens of addiction or obsessive love—the fairy music as a metaphor for any consuming passion that erodes one’s connection to reality. The speaker’s plight mirrors that of those who, having glimpsed something transcendent, find the mundane world unbearable.
Nora Hopper Chesson’s The Fairy Music is a masterful exploration of enchantment’s double-edged sword. Through its evocative imagery, musicality, and emotional depth, the poem captures the devastating consequences of being touched by the otherworldly. It is both a lament for lost humanity and a warning about the perils of irresistible beauty. In the tradition of the Celtic Revival, Chesson revitalizes folklore not as mere superstition but as a profound commentary on human desire and the fragility of the self. The poem endures because it speaks to a universal truth: some callings, once heard, cannot be unheard, and some longings, once awakened, can never be satisfied.
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