Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,

And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;

For many a year he had gnawed it near,

For meat was hard to come by.

Done by! Gum by!

In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,

And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on

Said he to Troll: 'Pray, what is yon?

For it looks like the shin o' my uncle Tim,

As should be a-lyin' in graveyard.

Caveyard! Paveyard!

This many a year has Tim been gone,

And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard.

'My lad,' said Troll, 'this bone I stole.

But what be bones that lie in a hole?

Thy nuncle was dead as a lump of lead,

Afore I found his shinbone.

Tinbone! Thinbone!

He can spare a share for a poor old troll,

Fore he don't need his shinbone.'

Said Tom: 'I don't see why the likes o' thee

Without axin' leave should go makin' free

With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;

So hand the old bone over!

Rover! Trover!

Though dead he be, it belongs to he;

So hand the old bone over!'

'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins,

'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.

A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!

I'll try my teeth on thee now.

Hee now! See now!

I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and shins;

I've a mind to dine on thee now!'

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,

He found his hands had hold of naught.

Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind

And gave him the boot to larn him.

Warn him! Darn him!

A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought

Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone

Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.

As well set your boot to the mountain's root,

For the seat of a troll don't feel it.

Peel it! Heal it!

Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,

And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom's leg is game, since home he came,

And his bootless foot is lasting lame;

But Troll don't care, and he's still there

With the bone he boned from its owner.

Doner! Boner!

Troll's old seat is still the same,

And the bone he boned from its owner!

In western lands beneath the Sun

The flowers may rise in Spring,

The trees may bud, the waters run,

The merry finches sing.

Or there maybe tis cloudless night

And swaying beeches bear

The Elven-stars as jewels white

Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journeys end I lie

In darkness buried deep,

Beyond all towers strong and high,

Beyond all mountains steep,

Above all shadows rides the Sun

And Stars for ever dwell,

I will not say the Day is done

Nor bid the Stars farewell

Grey as a mouse

Big as a house

Nose like a snake

I make the earth shake,

As I tramp through the grass,

Trees crack as I pass,

With horns in my mouth,

I walk in the South,

Flapping big ears,

Beyond count of years,

I stump round and round,

Never lie on the ground,

Not even to die.

Oliphaunt am I,

Biggest of all,

Huge, old and tall,

If ever youd met me

You wouldnt forget me.

If you never do,

You wont think Im true,

But old Oliphaunt am I,

And I never lie.