NEAR Limerick, in a meadow green,
The fiddle goes — the dancer flies —
A little dwarfish man is seen,
And wildest screams of laughter rise:
" Oh! merry Toby, come and stay,
And play for us this festal day. "

Poor Toby takes the fiddler's place,
Then brogues are stamped and pipes are lit;
And round and round in rapid race
The merry-footed dancers flit:
" Oh! Toby, show thy face, good man!
Let those resist to laugh who can. "

The little fiddler lifts his head,
For laughter then the dance is stayed;
The rich and poor, the wived and wed,
And old and young, and man and maid,
And fair and foul, and best and worst,
All laugh as if their hearts would burst.

Still Toby — little Toby — gazed
Around the group, and to and fro,
Then, loud above the laugh, he raised
His screaming voice, that all might know:
" When soon I fill the narrow den,
God wills my skull will laugh even then! "

Then silent all the dancers grew,
Still Toby played his merry tune;
But none will now the dance renew,
All leave the place deserted soon,
But Toby, who doth still remain,
The lord of the abandoned plain.

Away the timid young men ran,
Or nodded sideways as they past;
Still Toby laughed — poor little man —
As laugh he must, while life doth last.
But soon the laugh — the music's o'er,
And Toby sleeps to wake no more!

Well, twenty years have passed away —
The sexton digs a grave hard by,
His shovel, to the light of day,
Throws up a skull now smooth and dry;
He placed it on the earth and stones
Beside the grave, between two bones.

The bell and psalm resound afar,
The censer fumes, the black plumes wave,
And, borne upon the funeral car,
A corse is carried to the grave.
The bearers stand, and lower the bier,
The Priest with measured step comes near.

He turns him round, then wild and loud,
The group a peal of laughter gave;
The mourners in their darksome shroud,
With laughing, stumble o'er the grave;
With trembling lips they shout and stare —
" See! see! the laughing skull is there! "

There stands the skull, and grins on all,
Still grinning back the laughter loud;
Then laugh the men, the children small,
Then laughs the priest and all the crowd —
All but the sexton, who arose,
And said — " Poor Toby, now repose! "