 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
IRISH CASTLES.
‘Sweet Norah, come here and look into the fire;
Maybe in its embers good luck we might see;
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining
Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!
Maybe in its embers good luck we might see;
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining
Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!
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‘Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning:
There 's a sweet little valley, with river and trees,
And a house on the bank quite as big as the squire's,—
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these?
There 's a sweet little valley, with river and trees,
And a house on the bank quite as big as the squire's,—
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these?
‘And now there 's a coach and four galloping horses,
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind;
That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage,
And dash through the streets with the speed of the wind.’
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind;
That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage,
And dash through the streets with the speed of the wind.’
As Dermot was speaking, the rain down the chimney
Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone,
While mansion and carriage in smoke-circles vanished,
And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.
Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone,
While mansion and carriage in smoke-circles vanished,
And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.
Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whispered:
‘'T is better to strive than to vainly desire;
And our little hut by the roadside is better
Than palace, and servants, and coach—in the fire!’
‘'T is better to strive than to vainly desire;
And our little hut by the roadside is better
Than palace, and servants, and coach—in the fire!’
'T is years since poor Dermot his fortune was dreaming,
Since Norah's sweet counsel effected his cure:
For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning,
And now his snug mansion looks down on the Suir.
Since Norah's sweet counsel effected his cure:
For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning,
And now his snug mansion looks down on the Suir.
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |