The Fairies Harp: Welsh Folktale

The Story of The Fairies Harp

Long ago in the shadow of the mighty Cader Idris mountains in Wales, a company of fairies made their home. These fair folk often wandered through the valleys testing the hearts of the people they encountered. Those who welcomed them with kindness received blessings in return. However, anyone who turned them away or treated them cruelly invited misfortune.

 

One cold autumn night, Morgan Rhys, a simple yet merry cottager sat alone in his small house by the fire. With a mug of warm ale in his hand, he hummed a tune.

Morgan loved music, though others did not share his opinion of his singing. Once a sharp-tongued bard cruelly compared his voice to the braying of a donkey and the wail of a lost sheep, but Morgan paid no heed to such remarks. To him, his singing sounded delightful and that was all that mattered.

As he sang, a knock came at the door. Delighted at the prospect of company, he bellowed, “Come in, whoever you are!” When no one entered he frowned. Another knock followed, more insistent this time. Rising from his chair he strode to the door and pulled it open.

Before him stood three weary travellers, their clothes dusted with the day’s journey. Morgan had no idea that these were no ordinary men but fairies in disguise, testing his hospitality. One of them spoke, his voice kind but tired.

“Good sir, we have travelled far and seek only a morsel of food to sustain us. Might you spare something for three strangers?”

Morgan clapped his hands together. “Is that all? By my life you shall have more than a morsel! A feast is what I’d offer were my wife here to prepare it but as she’s away, we must make do with what I have.” He led them inside and placed bread and cheese before them along with a jug of fresh ale.

“Eat your fill,” he said heartily. “For never shall it be said that Morgan Rhys let a guest leave hungry.”

The travellers ate in silence. When they finished, the eldest among them spoke. “You have shown us great kindness Morgan Rhys and kindness must always be repaid. Tell us, if you could have one wish granted, what would it be?”

Morgan scratched his chin. He had never been a man of great ambition. After a moment’s thought, he grinned. “If I could have anything, it would be a harp—a harp that plays lively tunes no matter how clumsy my fingers may be.” He laughed. “But surely, that’s a foolish wish.”

The travellers exchanged knowing smiles. “Not foolish at all,” the eldest said. With a wave of his hand a golden harp appeared by the hearth. Morgan gasped and turned to thank his guests but they had vanished into the night. He stared at the harp, scarcely believing his eyes.

Cautiously, he reached out and plucked a string. At once the fairies’ harp burst into a merry tune, its melody bright and infectious. Just then his wife Anna returned home with a group of friends. The moment they heard the music, their feet took on a will of their own. They danced, twirling and skipping in perfect time with the tune. No one stopped until Morgan lifted his hands from the strings.

News of the enchanted harp spread quickly. Visitors from near and far flocked to Morgan’s cottage, eager to witness its magic. Each time he played, people danced until they collapsed breathless, unable to resist the harp’s lively spell.  

Among the visitors stood the very bard who had once mocked Morgan’s singing. With a smirk, he challenged Morgan to play.

Accepting the challenge, Morgan struck the strings and the bard’s feet sprang to life. Faster and faster he danced, his limbs flailing wildly. His smirk vanished, replaced by a look of horror.

“Enough, Morgan! Stop this madness!” he cried, but Morgan, overcome with laughter, played on. The bard spun and stumbled, knocking over furniture and tumbling about like a puppet on invisible strings. Only when Morgan’s own sides ached from laughter did he finally take his hands off the fairies’ harp. The bard collapsed in exhaustion, vowing never to mock Morgan again.

That night as Morgan slept, a soft voice whispered through the room. “You have misused our gift,” it said. “Fairy magic is not meant for revenge.”

When Morgan awoke the golden harp had vanished. He searched high and low but found no trace of it. The fairies had reclaimed their gift, taking it back to the hidden depths of Cader Idris.

From that day forward Morgan never again wielded fairy magic. Yet he learned a valuable lesson: Gifts given in kindness should never serve spite. Though he never saw the fairies’ harp again, he remained a happy man, for he had gained something just as precious—a tale to tell. A tale of magic, music and the kindness that fairies never forget.