THE LEPRECAUN
By WILLIAM ALLINGHAM
NOTE.—The Leprecaun, or Shoemaker, is one of the solitary fairies of Ireland. He is a little fellow who wears a red coat with seven buttons in each row, and a cocked or pointed hat, on the point of which he often spins round like a top. You may often see him under the hedge mending shoes; where, if you are sharp enough, you may catch him and make him give up the big crocks of gold, of which the little miser has saved many and many. But you must be careful, for if after you have seen him once you take your eyes off him for a single instant, he vanishes into the air like a wreath of smoke.
Little cowboy, what have you heard,
Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Only the plaintive yellow-bird
Singing in sultry fields around?
Chary, chary, chary, chee-e!
Only the grasshopper and the bee?
"Tip-tap, rip-rap,
Tick-a-tack-too!
Scarlet leather sewn together,
This will make a shoe.
Left, right, pull it tight,
Summer days are warm;
Underground in winter,
Laughing at the storm!"
Lay your ear close to the hill:
Do you not catch the tiny clamor,
Busy click of an elfin hammer,
Voice of the Leprecaun singing shrill
As he merrily plies his trade?
He's a span
And a quarter in height;
Get him in sight, hold him fast,
And you're a made
Man!
You watch your cattle the summer day,
Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;
How should you like to roll in your carriage
And look for a duchess's daughter in marriage?
Seize the shoemaker, so you may!
"Big boots a-hunting,
Sandals in the hall,
White for a wedding feast,
And pink for a ball:
This way, that way,
So we make a shoe,
Getting rich every stitch,
Tick-tack-too!"
Nine and ninety treasure crocks
This keen miser-fairy hath,
Hid in mountain, wood and rocks,
Ruin and round-tower, cave or rath,
And where the cormorants build;
From the times of old
Guarded by him;
Each of them filled
Full to the brim
With gold!
[Illustration: THIS WAY, THAT WAY, SO WE MAKE A SHOE]
I caught him at work one day myself,
In the castle ditch where the foxglove grows,
A wrinkled, wizened and bearded elf,
Spectacles stuck on the top of his nose,
Silver buckles to his hose,
Leather apron, shoe in his lap.
"Rip-rap, tip-tap,
Tick-tack-too!
A grig stepped upon my cap,
Away the moth flew.
Buskins for a fairy prince,
Brogues for his son,
Pay me well, pay me well,
When the job's done."
The rogue was mine beyond a doubt;
I stared at him, he stared at me!
"Servant, Sir!" "Humph," said he,
And pulled a snuff-box out;
He took a long pinch, looked better pleased,
The queer little Leprecaun,
Offered the box with a whimsical grace,
Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,
And, while I sneezed, was gone!