I caught him at work one day, myself, In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,-- A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf, Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose, Silver buckles to his hose, Leather apron--shoe in his lap-- 'Rip-rap, tip-tap, Tick-tack-too! (A grasshopper on my cap! Away the moth flew!) Buskins for a fairy prince, Brogues for his son,-- Pay me well, pay me well, When the job is done!' The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt. I stared at him; he stared at me; 'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he, And pull'd a snuff-box out. He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased, The queer little Lepracaun; Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,-- Pouf! he flung the dust in my face, And while I sneezed, Was gone! THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION With grief and mourning I sit to spin; My Love passed by, and he didn't come in; He passes by me, both day and night, And carries off my poor heart's delight. There is a tavern in yonder town, My Love goes there and he spends a crown; He takes a strange girl upon his knee, And never more gives a thought to me. Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time, And sure our love's but a little crime;'-- My apron-string now it's wearing short, And my Love he seeks other girls to court. O with him I'd go if I had my will, I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock and hill; I'd never once speak of all my grief If he'd give me a smile for my heart's relief. In our wee garden the rose unfolds, With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds; I'll tie no posies for dance or fair, A willow-twig is for me to wear. For a maid again I can never be, Till the red rose blooms on the willow tree. Of such a trouble I've heard them tell, And now I know what it means full well. As through the long lonesome night I lie, I'd give the world if I might but cry; But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice, And the tears run down without any noise. And what, O what will my mother say? She'll wish her daughter was in the clay. My father will curse me to my face; The neighbours will know of my black disgrace. My sister's buried three years, come Lent; But sure we made far too much lament. Beside her grave they still say a prayer-- I wish to God 'twas myself was there! The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed; To look at them puts me much in dread, They mark the good time that's gone and past: It's like this year's one will prove the last. The oldest cross it's a dusty brown, But the winter winds didn't shake it down; The newest cross keeps the colour bright; When the straw was reaping my heart was light.