In a doldrum of wonder! He turns to steer,
And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear
With other odd sounds—“Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Tol, lol, zid—ziddle—quee—quee—bah! bah!
Fizzigigiggidy—psha!—sha! sha!”
—“O ye thieves! ye thieves! ye rascally thieves!”
The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
And there, alas! to his horror perceives,
That the Little Folks’ mode of making him richer
Has been, to pay him with—withered leaves!