Chorus: Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen.

We daren't go a-hunting for fear of little men.

Wee folk, good folk, trooping altogether.

Green jacket, red cap, and white owl's feather.

They stole little Bridget for seven years long And when she came home her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back between the night and morrow.

They thought that she was sleeping, but she was dead from sorrow.

The Moorchild is rooted in legend; it brings to mind the haunting tales of ancient cultures which once inhabited the countrysides of the British Isles. But, according to McGraw, the Moorfolk are her own invention. Taking some of the attributes of traditional magical beings, such as their non-human emotions and attitudes, she created a Band of sprites who are strictly themselves. They are expert shape changers and they play the bagpipes. This...