Donn Binn Maguire and the Coppal Bawn

Gradually, as the years and then the centuries slipped by, he wasted away to a shadow of his former self but still he did not die like any other mortal. Away from the heat and the goodness of the sun, he became as thin as a stick, his skin became as pale as milk and his eyes were as brightly inflamed as the reddest of rubies. In this ill-lit world, he was serenaded and soothed by the music of magical pipes and harps. He was given fine clothes to wear, all of which were made from the richest silks and brocades of the sidhe (fairies). He reclined upon a bed of the softest linens and damasks whilst servants carried him all the foodstuffs that he could wish for. And still all this grand living never put meat upon his bones.

He missed the wind on his face; he missed the hunts across the hills of the upper world; the smell of the turf fires and the roar of pleasant human company. The lands of the Good People are dark and dreary - endless, echoing and poorly-lit caverns and deep lakes, and great pits which fall down through unimaginable depths to the very core of the world. God's holy daylight never touches that dark place nor does the wind blow across it. There is no sport or feasting there, nor is there laughter of any description, for the Good People are great sorcerers and take themselves very seriously. Donn Binn was fading away for want of the rowdy company of his own people that he had always enjoyed in Fermanagh.

In the end, he became so miserable that the fairies granted him a special dispensation for, despite all their fearsome magics, they can be kindly when the mood takes them. He would be allowed to return to the lands of Fermanagh at certain times of the year, when the mists hung low over the summit of Binaughlin; but he must always return to the underground realm after the space of a night. Each time, he could take away one person from the mortal world to live with him in his dark kingdom under the earth.

And so it has always been. When the clouds hang low over Binaughlin Mountain, Donn Binn Maguire rides out on a white stallion - the very horse that he had chased into the country of the Good People in the first place - and he will carry away the best-looking girl, the strongest boy or the greatest scholar in the district round about. He takes them back with him to his own lightless world and they are seen no more. It is said that he travels across the mountain slopes most especially on May Eve or on Halloweve Night but also sometimes on some of the other old feasts of seasons that they observe throughout the countryside. Only a piece of mountain ash tied to your chimney or hung above your door will protect a house against him for ash will always turn the fairies. They say, too, that he will never pass by when church bells are ringing for the sound of a bell rung in a holy steeple is a great protection against witches and the sidhe.

At night, when all the family is gathered in about the fire and there is much joviality in the house, look quickly to the window for there you may see the pale, lonely face of Donn Binn Maguire peering in with a strange and wistful stare. Then you will know that your son or daughter has been marked by the Good People and will be gone from you before the month is out. It is always like that.

I heard it said, too, that the horse on which the fairy prince rides is a very magical steed. At certain times of the year, it - had the power of human speech and could foresee the future. In the olden times, it was called the Coppal Bawn by the people round Binaughlin because of its great beauty. A powerful sort of horse it was altogether.

The old folks said that, years ago, the country people around Florencecourt, Swanlinbar and Wheathill would gather on the top of the mountain and the horse would appear to them and would speak oracles and give out prophesies. To honour it, they carved its shape in the limestone on the side of the mountain and I believe that you can still see the faint trace of it, although it is now very much overgrown. They say that there are horses carved on the hills of England as well but there are none that were ever so beautiful as the Coppal Bawn."

From Beasts, Banshees and Brides from the Sea by Bob Curran