University of Virginia Library

It's an old, old story, and it would not have done
In his day to tell it to everyone,
For fear of the treasure-trove, you know.
But all are dead, both women and men,
And in their graves an age ago.
In this very field, he rented it then—
On a sweet summer day as ever shone,
He was digging potatoes here alone;
And, raising his body to ease his bones,
He look'd across at yon cairn of stones,
The gathering of many a bygone day,
With moss and mould all green and gray,
And there he spied a weasel at play,
Out and in through cranny and seam,
And down the cairn like a jaggëd gleam
Of lightning in a leaden sky,
Or, leaving the cairn, it would scamper by,
And down the potato furrows pass,
Like a sunny brook through the meadow grass,
Now leaping, now lost to the watcher's eye;
Yet, ever and aye 'twould again return,
To one little hole in the stony cairn,
Where it hid for a while, then came peeping out,
Looking up and down and round about.
But once when it left, cried he, ‘By my soul,
I'll see what there is in the weasel's hole.’
So he ran to the spot, and with nimble stroke
Into its little castle broke,
Picked out the stones, and the mossy mould,
Deeper and deeper let in the light,
Till he reached the last chamber, and lord, what a sight
Of shining silver and gleaming gold!
He could do nothing but stand and gaze,
And his very heart stood still with amaze!
He gazed till he felt himself gazing blind;
But he heard the brush of the weasel behind,
And then, oh dear, oh dear what a sound
Of piteous misery and dismay
Pierced through that quiet summer day
When the weasel saw that its treasure was found!
It sprang with one leap to its golden heap,
Bewail'd and wrung its little fore-paws,
And then with one of its sharpest claws—
Would you believe it? it's past all belief!—
Ript up its belly from tail to throat,
Put off its skin like a cast-off coat,
Lay down in its flesh, and died with grief!

It's beyond belief, but true for all that—
When he counted the money into his hat,
There were spade-ace guineas three hundred and five,
And ten pounds in silver, as I'm alive!

So he laid the weasel and its skin
Into the place where the money had lain,
Built the cairn all up again,
And pray'd for the honour'd dead within.
And unto this day man, woman and bairn
Give it the name of the ‘Weasel's Cairn.’”