Elf Shot.

        A lad brought up in Highland vale
        Who did believe each fairy tale,
        Which his grannie oft' to him told,
        And of witches and of warlocks bold,
        And he himself would often pour
        For hours reading wizard lore.
        One night his mother to the town
        In a hurry sent him down,
        So o'er his pony he did stride,
        And to the town did fearful ride,
        He thought that demons they would rush
        On him from every rock and bush,
        And as he rode through the quarry
        It did great increase his flurry,
        He felt that fiends with fiercest hate
        Would surely there seal fast his fate.

        But town he reached and 'neath his vest
        He parcel pressed close to his breast,
        The pony now he mounts once more
        For to pass quarry as before,
        But, alas, at that fatal spot
        He heard a gun, he was elf shot,
        He felt that from his breast a flood
        Was pouring down of his heart's blood,
        But he clung fast to pony's back,
        Though loss of blood his frame did rack,
        But in spite of his alarms
        He resolved to die in mother's arms,
        And when he reached his own door
        He said that he was drenched in gore,
        From bullet hole all in his breast.
        His father opened up his vest,
        And he did sadly fear the worst
        But found yeast bottle had but burst.