Ha! here's the treasure. He has found it! Home in haste he hies.
To bed he goes. "Quick! shut the door, and shut it fast," he cries,
"Against the little Duz of night:" and trembles as he lies.
"Eh! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday."...
Ah poor soul!
They climb and swarm upon his roof, and there they make a hole.
My hapless friend, they have thee! haste! throw out the treasure, whole!
Poor Paskou! Holy-water take, and well besprinkle thee,
And cast the sheet about thy head; still as a dead man be,
Nor stir in any wise. "Ah! how I hear them laugh at me,
And cry, 'If Paskou can escape, a cunning man is he!'
"O heavens! here is one; and see, his head the hole is hiding;
His eyes like embers glow, as down the bed-post he comes sliding;
And after him, one, two, three, four; ah! multitudes, are gliding.
"They bound, they dance, they race, they tumble wildly o'er the floor."...
"Eh, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday....
"Two, three, four.
"Eh, little tailor, dear!—five, six, seven, eight, and something more.
"Dear little tailor, surely thou art strangled with the clothes!
Dear little tailor, only show a bit of thy dear nose!
Come: let us teach thee how to dance—dance, dance, for late it grows.
"Come: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday ... little tailor, thou'rt a knave!
Come, rob the dwarfs again, and see what treasure thou shalt have.
Dance, wicked little tailor, dance; and dance into thy grave!"
The money of the dwarfs is worth nothing.
The Plague of Elliant commemorates a frightful pestilence which, in the sixth century, desolated not only Armorica, but the whole of Europe. Those who were attacked by it lost their hair, their teeth, and their sight; became yellow and languid, and speedily died. The parish of Elliant, in Cornouaille, was one of several from which the whole population perished. The neighboring country, especially that around Tourc'h, was preserved from the scourge by the prayers of a hermit named Rasian.