If you'd ride along to Fairyland this night beside o' me;
There's a fox that eats our chickens—them that lays the eggs that's golden—
And our little fairy mouse-dogs, ah, 'tis small account they'll be,
Sure it wants an advertising pack to gobble such as he!'
"So gran'dad says, 'Your servant, Miss,' and got his hounds together,
And the mountain-side flew open and they rode into the hill;
'Your country's one to cross,' says he, and rights a stirrup-leather,
And he found in half-a-jiffey, and he finished with a kill;
And the little fairy lady, she was with 'em with a will.
"Then 'O,' says she, 'young man,' says she, ''tis lonesome here in Faerie,