On the hill-top, in the dawn,

Singing softly, on tip-toe,

“Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!

Nixie—pixie—leprechaun!”

Bring the blood of a white hen

Slaughtered at the break of day,

While the cock, in the fairy glen,

Thrusts his gold neck every way,

Over the brambles, peering, calling,

Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,

Far and wide—as the dews are falling—

Clamouring, calling, everywhere.

Round the crimson vial go,

On the hill-top, in the dawn,

Singing softly, on tip-toe,

“Nixie—pixie—leprechaun!”

If this fail, at break of day,

I can show you a better way.

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