It is said that he would go out in the evenings lay his ear to the ground on Doon Hill and listen to the Faeries. In 1691 he wrote the booklet The Secret Commonwealth Of Elves, Fauns And Fairies. On 14th May, during one of his visits to Doon Hill, he disappeared and it is thought that he entered the Faerie Underworld and it is local belief that his was transported away as punishment for revealing too much about Faeries and their ways. There he now resides as chaplain to the Faerie Queen, but one day he may return to visit his old church once more.

The Fairy Minister
He heard, he saw, he knew too well
The secrets of your fairy clan;
You stole him from the haunted dell,
Who never more was seen of man,
Now far from heaven, and safe from hell,
Unknown of earth, he wanders free.
Would that he might return and tell
Of his mysterious company!

And half I envy him who now,
Clothed in her court’s enchanted green,
By moonlit loch or mountain’s brow
Is chaplain to the Fairy Queen.

~ Andrew Lang

Rhymer's Tower

The story goes that he met a beautiful, graceful woman riding a horse while wandering alone in a forest near of Melrose Abbey, Roxburghshire. Thomas mistook her as the Queen of Heaven but she told him that she was the Queen of Elfland (Queen of the Fairies). Thomas was taken by her and kissed her despite her warning that to do so would put him under her power. Immediately after the kiss the Queen turned into a hag and told him that he must accompany her to the Faerie realm and serve her for seven years.

After a long journey through the Underworld they reached the Queen’s castle where her husband waited for her. She then turned back into the beautiful Queen he had met and kissed. He served her for seven years and eventually returned to the upper world with the gift of prophecy and a tongue that couldn’t lie. His prophecies proved accurate and his gifts soon brought him fame and wealth and he was revered throughout the land.

Thomas became the subject of verse and song and his story is recorded in several forms. Here’s a fuller version of the story.

Steeleye Span, Thomas the Rhymer

See below for the lyrics.

True Thomas sat on Huntley bank,
And he beheld a lady gay;
A lady that was brisk and bold,
Come riding o’er the ferny brae.
Her skirt was of the grass green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine;
At every lock of her horse’s mane,
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.
True Thomas, he pulled off his cap,
And bowed him low down to his knee’
“All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven
Your like on earth I ne’er did see.”
“No, no Thomas,” she said,
“That name does not belong to me,
I am the queen of fair Elfland,
And I have come to visit thee.”
“You must go with me Thomas,” she said,
True Thomas you must go with me;
And must serve me seven years,
Through well or woe, as chance may be.”

Chorus:
Hark and carp, come along with me,
Thomas the Rhymer;
Hark and carp, come along with me,
Thomas the Rhymer;
Hark and carp, come along with me,
Thomas the Rhymer;
Hark and carp, come along with me,
Thomas the Rhymer.

They rode, and they rode, till at last they stopped before a cottage door. So they got down and went in and found the good woman abed with the children playing about; and the babe, a fine bouncing boy, beside her.

Dame Goody took the babe, which was as fine a baby boy as you’d wish to see. The mother, when she handed the baby to Dame Goody to mind, gave her a box of ointment, and told her to stroke the baby’s eyes with it as soon as it opened them. After a while it began to open its eyes. Dame Goody saw that it had squinny eyes just like its father. So she took the box of ointment and stroked its two eyelids with it. But she couldn’t help wondering what it was for, as she had never seen such a thing done before. So she looked to see if the others were looking, and, when they were not noticing, she stroked her own right eyelid with the ointment.

No sooner had she done so, than everything seemed changed about her. The cottage became elegantly furnished. The mother in the bed was a beautiful lady, dressed up in white silk. The little baby was still more beautiful than before, and its clothes were made of a sort of silvery gauze. Its little brothers and sisters around the bed were flat-nosed imps with pointed ears, who made faces at one another, and scratched their polls. Sometimes they would pull the sick lady’s ears with their long and hairy paws. In fact they were up to all kinds of mischief; and Dame Goody knew that she had got into a house of pixies. But she said nothing to nobody, and as soon as the lady was well enough to mind the baby, she asked the old fellow to take her back home. So he came round to the door with the coal-black horse with eyes of fire, and off they went as fast as before, or perhaps a little faster, till they came to Dame Goody’s cottage, where the squinny-eyed old fellow lifted her down and left her, thanking her civilly enough, and paying her more than she had ever been paid before for such service.

Now next day happened to be market-day, and as Dame Goody had been away from home, she wanted many things in the house, and trudged off to get them at the market. As she was buying the things she wanted, who should she see but the squinny-eyed old fellow who had taken her on the coal-black horse. And what do you think he was doing? Why he went about from stall to stall taking up things from each, here some fruit, and there some eggs, and so on; and no one seemed to take any notice.

Now Dame Goody did not think it her business to interfere, but she thought she ought not to let so good a customer pass without speaking. So she ups to him and bobs a curtsey and said: ” Gooden, sir, I hopes as how your good lady and the little one are as well as–”

But she couldn’t finish what she was a-saying, for the funny old fellow started back in surprise, and he says to her, says he: ” What! do you see me to-day ? ”

” See you,” says she, ” why, of course I do, as plain as the sun in the skies, and what’s more,” says she, ” I see you are busy too, into the bargain.”

” Ah, you see too much,” said he; “now, pray, with which eye do you see all this?”

” With the right eye to be sure,” said she, as proud as can be to find him out.

“The ointment! The ointment!” cried the old pixy thief. “Take that for meddling with what don’t concern you: you shall see me no more.” And with that he struck her on her right eye, and she couldn’t see him anymore; and, what was worse, she was blind on the right side from that hour till the day of her death.

Source
English Fairy Tales (Everyman’s Library Children’s Classics)

Hard-baked is thy bread,
‘Tis not easy to catch me,

and then ran off laughing to the lake.

Next day he took with him bread not so well done, and watched for the maidens. When they came ashore he offered his bread as before, and the maiden tasted it and sang :

Unbaked is thy bread,
I will not have thee,

and again disappeared in the waves.

A third time did the shepherd of Myddvai try to attract the maiden, and this time he offered her bread that he had found floating about near the shore. This pleased her, and she promised to become his wife if he were able to pick her out from among her sisters on the following day. When the time came the shepherd knew his love by the strap of her sandal. Then she told him she would be as good a wife to him as any earthly maiden could be unless he should strike her three times without cause. Of course he deemed that this could never be; and she, summoning from the lake three cows, two oxen, and a bull, as her marriage portion, was led homeward by him as his bride.

The years passed happily, and three children were born to the shepherd and the lake-maiden. But one day here were going to a christening, and she said to her husband it was far to walk, so he told her to go for the horses.
“I will, said she, if you bring me my gloves which I’ve left in the house.”

But when he came back with the gloves, he found she had not gone for the horses; so he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the gloves, and said, “Go, go.”

” That’s one,” said she.

Another time they were at a wedding, when suddenly the lake-maiden fell a-sobbing and a-weeping, amid the joy and mirth of all around her.

Her husband tapped her on the shoulder, and asked her, “Why do you weep?”

” Because they are entering into trouble; and trouble is upon you; for that is the second causeless blow you have given me. Be careful ; the third is the last.”

The husband was careful never to strike her again. But one day at a funeral she suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. Her husband forgot, and touched her rather roughly on the shoulder, saying, “Is this a time for laughter? ”

” I laugh,” she said, “because those that die go out of trouble, but your trouble has come. The last blow has been struck; our marriage is at an end, and so farewell.” And with that she rose up and left the house and went to their home.

Then she, looking round upon her home, called to the cattle she had brought with her:

Brindle cow, white speckled,
Spotted cow, bold freckled,
Old white face, and gray Geringer,
And the white bull from the king’s coast,
Grey ox, and black calf,
All, all, follow me home,

Now the black calf had just been slaughtered, and was hanging on the hook; but it got off the hook alive and well and followed her; and the oxen, though they were ploughing, trailed the plough with them and did her bidding. So she fled to the lake again, they following her, and with them plunged into the dark waters. And to this day is the furrow seen which the plough left as it was dragged across the mountains to the tarn.

Only once did she come again, when her sons were grown to manhood, and then she gave them gifts of healing by which they won the name of Meddygon Myddvai, the physicians of Myddvai.

Source
English Fairy Tales (Everyman’s Library Children’s Classics)

TALKING about fairies the other day to a nearly octogenarian female neighbour, I asked, Had she ever seen one in her youthful days? Her answer was in the negative; “but,” quoth she, “I’ve heard my grandmother tell a story, that Midridge (near Auckland) was a great place for fairies when she was a child, and for many long years after that.”

A rather lofty hill, only a short distance from the village, was their chief place of resort, and around it they used to dance, not by dozens, but by hundreds, when the gloaming began to show itself of the summer nights. Occasionally a villager used to visit the scene of their gambols in order to catch if it were but a passing glance of the tiny folks, dressed in their vestments of green, as delicate as the thread of the gossamer; for well knew the lass so favoured that ere the current year had disappeared she would have become the happy wife of the object of her only love; and also, as well ken’d the lucky lad, that he too would get a weel tochered lassie, long afore his brow became wrinkled with age, or the snow-white blossoms had begun to bud forth upon his pate.

Woe to those, however, who dared to come by twos or by threes, with inquisitive and curious eye, within the bounds of their domain; for if caught, or only the eye of a fairy fell upon them, ill was sure to betide them through life. Still more awful, however, was the result if any were so rash as to address them, either in plain prose or rustic rhyme. The last instance of their being spoken to is thus still handed down by tradition:–’Twas on a beautifully clear evening in the month of August, when the last sheaf had crowned the last stack in their master’s hagyard, and after calling the “harvest home,” the daytale men and household servants were enjoying themselves over massive pewter quarts foaming over with strong beer, that the subject of the evening’s conversation at last turned upon the fairies of the neighbouring hill, and each related his oft-told tale which he had learned by rote from the lips of some parish grandame. At last the senior of the mirthful party proposed to a youthful mate of his, who had dared to doubt even the existence of such creatures, that he durst not go to the hill, mounted on his master’s best paifrey, and call aloud, at the full extent of his voice, the following rhymes:

“Rise little Lads,
Wi’ your iron gads,
And set the Lad o’ Midridge hame.”

Tam o’ Shanter-like, elated with the contents of the pewter vessels, he nothing either feared or doubted, and off went the lad to the fairy hill; so, being arrived at the base, he was nothing loath to extend his voice to its utmost powers in giving utterance to the above invitatory verses.

Scarcely had the last words escaped his lips ere he was nearly surrounded by many hundreds of the little folks, who are ever ready to revenge, with the infliction of the most dreadful Punishment, every attempt at insult. The most robust of the fairies, who I take to have been Oberon, their king, wielding an enormous javelin, thus, also in rhymes equally rough, rude, and rustic, addressed the witless wight:–

“Sillie Willy, mount thy filly;
And if it isn’t weel corn’d and fed,
I’ll hae thee afore thou gets hanie to thy Midridge bed.”

Well was it for Willy that his home was not far distant, and that part light was still remaining in the sky. Horrified beyond measure, he struck his spurs into the sides of his beast, who, equally alarmed, darted off as quick as lightning towards the mansion of its owner. Luckily it was one of those houses of olden time, which would admit of an equestrian and his horse within its portals without danger; lucky, also, was it that at the moment they arrived the door was standing wide open: so, considering the house a safer sanctuary from the belligerous fairies than the stable, he galloped direct into the hail, to the no small amazement of all beholders, when the door was instantly closed upon his pursuing foes! As soon as Willy was able to draw his breath, and had in part overcome the effects of his fear, he related to his comrades a full and particular account of his adventures with the fairies; but from that time forward, never more could any one, either for love or money, prevail upon Willy to give the fairies of the bill an invitation to take an evening walk with him as far as the village of Midridge!

To conclude, when the fairies had departed, and it was considered safe to unbar the door, to give egress to Willy and his filly, it was found, to the amazement of all beholders, that the identical iron javelin of the fairy king had pierced through the thick oaken door, which for service as well as safety was strongly plated with iron, where it still stuck, and actually required the strength of the stoutest fellow in the company, with the aid of a smith’s great fore-hammer, to drive it forth. This singular relic of fairyland was preserved for many generations, till passing eventually into the hands of one who cared for none of these things, it was lost, to the no small regret of all lovers of legendary lore!

Source
English Fairy and Other Folk Tales
by Edwin Sidney Hartland
[1890] Choice Notes: Folk- Lore, p. 131.

“Wae’s me! wae’s me!
The acorn is not yet
Fallen from the tree,
That’s to grow the wood,
That’s to make the cradle,
That’s to rock the bairn,
That’s to grow to a man,
That’s to lay me.”

The servants, however, resorted to the usual mode of banishing a Brownie: they left a green cloak and hood for him by the kitchen fire, and remained on the watch. They saw him come in, gaze at the new clothes, try them on, and, apparently in great delight, go jumping and frisking about the kitchen. But at the first crow of the cock he vanished, crying:

“Here’s a cloak, and here’s a hood!
The Cauld Lad of Hilton will do no more good;”

and he never again returned to the kitchen; yet it was said that he might still be heard at midnight singing those lines in a tone of melancholy.

There was a room in the castle long called the Cauld Lad’s Room, which was never occupied unless the castle was full of company, and within the last century many persons of credit had heard of the midnight wailing of the Cauld Lad, who some maintained was the spirit of a servant whom one of the barons of Hilton had killed unintentionally in a fit of passion.

Source
English Fairy and Other Folk Tales
by Edwin Sidney Hartland
[1890] T . Keightley, The Fairy Mythology, p. 296, quoting M. A. Richardson The Local Historian’s Table Book.

As soon as the Druids left them, the fairies, who never failed to take possession of their deserted shrines, seemed to have had an especial care over these stones, and any one who ventures to meddle with them Is sure to meet with some very great misfortune. The old people of the village, however, who generally know most about these matters, say the stones were once a king and his knights, who were going to make war on the king of England; and they assert that, according to old prophecies, had they ever reached Long Compton, the king of England must inevitably have been dethroned, and this king would have reigned in his place, but when they came to the village of Rollright they were suddenly turned into stones in the place where they now stand.

Be this as it may, there was once a farmer in the village who wanted a large stone to put in a particular position in an outhouse he was building in his farmyard, and he thought that one of the old knights would be just the thing for him. In spite of all the warnings of his neighbours he determined to have the stone he wanted, and he put four horses to his best waggon and proceeded up the hill. With much labour he succeeded in getting the stone into his waggon, and though the road lay down bill, it was so heavy that his waggon was broken and his horses were killed by the labour of drawing it home.

Nothing daunted by all these mishaps, the farmer raised the stone to the place it was to occupy in his new building. From this moment everything went wrong with him, his crops failed year after year, his cattle died one after another, he was obliged to mortgage his land and to sell his waggons and horses, till at last he had left only one poor broken-down horse which nobody would buy, and one old crazy cart. Suddenly the thought came into his head that all his misfortunes might be owing to the identical stone which be had brought from the circle at the top of the hill.

He thought he would try to get it back again, and his only horse was put to the cart. To his surprise he got the stone down and lifted it into the cart with very little trouble, and, as soon as it was in, the horse, which could scarcely bear along its own limbs, now drew it up the hill of its own accord with as little trouble as another horse would draw an empty cart on level ground, until it came to the very spot where the stone had formerly stood beside its companions.

The stone was soon in its place, and the horse and cart returned borne, and from that moment the farmer’s affairs began to improve, till in a short time he was a richer and more substantial man than he had ever been before.

Source
English Fairy and Other Folk Tales
by Edwin Sidney Hartland
[1890] Folk Lore Record, vol. ii. p. 177.