Cornish folklore character. |
The Spriggan There is a lonely windswept crag that looms not far from here They say the views do stretch for miles when everything is clear And on it stands a ruined circle, jagged against the sky But your word for that I’ll have to take; I’ll not go there, not I Doesn’t do to mess with Spriggans, and one has moved up there His eyes are mean and glinting, on his head is not much hair He’s a nasty little crooked thing with skinny pointed bones And I’ve seen him sitting up there, creating God awful moans The circle tomb hides treasure of coins of silver and gold Never to be discovered while the Spriggan has his hold For he sits and guards such plunders with selfish and spiteful glee And the highlight of his day is throwing stones to watch you flee A menace to the traveller who just wants to pass on by With secret ways of cunning stealth he’s devious and sly He’ll lead them off the trodden path amidst the boggy moors And not be satisfied until they are lost among the tors All this I say because I know, for I once went to peek And a Spriggan came upon me for a game of hide and seek Before I knew it I was lost; I drowned slowly in a bog And my spirit now walks aimlessly through misty moorland fog |