The Little People

'Twas a long bush night; and the old hut light

  Shone out thro' the open door

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 drag

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 suddenly

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 swag

Upon his back - Kilkenny Jack,

  With his fiddle in its green baize bag.