Chapter I

The Giant sat on a rock up high,
With the wind in his shaggy hair;
And he said, “I have drained the dairies dry,
And stripped the orchards bare;

“I have eaten the sheep, with the wool on their backs,”
(A nasty giant was he,)
“The eggs and the shells, the honey, the wax,
The fowls, and the cock-turkéy;

“And now I think I could eat a score
Of babies so plump and small;
And if, after that, I should want any more,
Their brothers and sisters and all.

“To-morrow I’ll do it. Ha! what was that?”
Said he, for a sound he heard;
“Was it fluttering owl or pattering rat,
Or bough to the breeze that stirred?”

Oh, it was neither rat nor owl,
Giant! nor shaking leaf;
Young Harold has heard your scheme so foul,
And it may come to grief!

One thing which you ate has escaped your mind,--
Young Harold his guinea-pig dear;
And he has crept up to try and find
His pet, and he shakes with fear;

He has hid himself in a corner, you know,
To listen and look about;
And if to the village to-morrow you go,
You may find the babes gone out!

II

Now, when to the village came Harold back
And told his tale so wild,
Then every mother she cried, “Good lack!
My child! preserve my child!”

And every father took his sword
And sharpened it on a stone;
But little Harold said never a word,
Having a plan of his own.

He laid six harrows outside the stile
That led to the village green,
Then on them a little hay did pile,
For the prongs not to be seen.

A toothsome sucking-pig he slew,
And thereby did it lay;
For why? Because young Harold knew
The Giant would pass that way.

Then he went in and said his prayers,--
Not to lie down to sleep;
But at his window up the stairs
A watch all night did keep,

Till the little stars all went pale to bed,
Because the sun was out,
And the sky in the east grew dapple-red,
And the little birds chirped about.