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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 455 |
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However years may vary ;
I'll not forget my early friends,
Nor honest Caoch O'Leary.
Poor Caoch and " Pinch " slept well that night,
And in the morning early He called me up to hear him play
" The wind that shakes the barley; " And then he stroked my flaxen hair,
And cried, " God mark my deary I " And how I wept when he said, "Farewell,
And think of Caoch O'Leary ! "
And seasons came and went, and still
Old Caoch was not forgotten, Although we thought him dead and gone,
And in the cold grave rotten; And often, when I walked and talked
With Eily, Kate*, and Mary, We thought of childhood's rosy hours,
And prayed for Caoch O'Leary.
Well—twenty summers had gone past,
And June's red sun was sinking, When I, a man, sat by my door,
Of twenty sad things thinking. A little dog came up the way,
His gait was slow and weary, And at his tail a lame man limped —
'Twas " Pinch" and Caoch O'Leary !
Old Caoch, but, oh ! how woebegone! His form is bowed and bending, |
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