'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.
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