The Little People

'Twas a long bush night; and the old hut light   Shone out thro' the open

To flood the knees of the great bush trees   And the scrub that grew before.

And, as I dreamed where the firelight gleamed,   And watched the long hours lag,

Came there to my shack Kilkenny Jack   With his fiddle in its green baize bag.

So I bade him sit and rest a bit,   And we yarned of this and that.

Pipes well alight, we watched the night   As he on his old swag sat."Lonesome, indade, this life we lade,"   Said he, "Why let time

For me an' you?"  And he stooped and drew   His fiddle from its green baize bag.

Then the scrub before the old hut door   Was people

With elfin' folk who rose and spoke   Strange, mystic things to me.

Then into the glare from the bracken there   The Little People crept;

And, suddenly, by fern and tree   The fairies danced and leapt.

Kilkenny Jack he leant him back,   And his bow went to and fro;

And there outside the banshees cried   In mournful tones and low.

And where the light stabbed thro' the night   To cast dark shades about,

In many a place I saw the face   Of a leprechaun peep out.

Then the music stopped; and Jack he dropped   His fiddle, and was done;

And into the night in sudden fright   I saw the small folk run . . .

Then off he went, his small form bent   'Neath his old, familiar

Upon his back - Kilkenny Jack,   With his fiddle in its green baize bag.