“There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill,

‘Tis Fancy’s land to which thou sett’st thy feet;

Where still, ’tis said, the fairy people meet

Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.

There each trim lass that skims the milky store

To the swart tribes their creamy bowl allots;

By night they sip it round the cottage-door,

While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.”

From Wiliam Collins, “An Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands of Scotland, Considered as the Subject of Poetry”