_Rome never looks where she treads,_
_Always her heavy hooves fall,_
_On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;_
_And Rome never heeds when we bawl._
_Her sentries pass on—that is all,_
_And we gather behind them in hordes,_
_And plot to reconquer the Wall,_
_With only our tongues for our swords._
_We are the Little Folk—we!_
_Too little to love or to hate._
_Leave us alone and you’ll see_
_How we can drag down the Great!_
_We are the worm in the wood!_
_We are the rot at the root!_
_We are the germ in the blood!_
_We are the thorn in the foot!_
_Mistletoe killing an oak—_
_Rats gnawing cables in two—_
_Moths making holes in a cloak—_
_How they must love what they do!_
_Yes,—and we Little Folk too,_
_We are as busy as they—_
_Working our works out of view—_
_Watch, and you’ll see it some day!_
_No indeed! We are not strong,_
_But we know Peoples that are._
_Yes, and we’ll guide them along,_
_To smash and destroy you in War!_
_We shall be slaves just the same?_
_Yes, we have always been slaves;_
_But you—you will die of the shame,_
_And then we shall dance on your graves!_
_We are the Little Folk, we! etc._