They were my darlings and my pride,
My boyhood's only riches,—
"Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried,
"My breeches! Oh my breeches!"
That night I saw them in my dreams;
How changed from what I knew them!
The dews had steeped their faded threads,
The wind had whistled through them;
I saw the wide and ghastly rents
Where demon claws had torn them;
A hole was in their amplest part,
As if an imp had worn them.
I have had many happy years,
And tailors kind and clever;
But those young pantaloons have gone
Forever, and forever!
And not till time has cut the last
Of all my earthly stitches,
This aching heart shall cease to mourn
My loved, my long-lost breeches.
AT THE RISING OF THE MOON.
"Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall,
Tell me why you hurry so?"
"Hush, ma bouchal, hush and listen;"
And his cheeks were all aglow.
"I bear ordhers from the captain:
Get you ready, quick and soon;
For the pikes must be together
At the risin' of the moon."
"Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall.
Where the gatherin' is to be?"
"In the ould spot by the river,
Right well known to you and me.