From a poem by the Bard of Thomond
I grieve when I think on the dear happy days of youth
When all the bright dreams of this faithless world seemed truth,
When I strayed through the woodland as gay as a midsummer bee,
And I loved as a sweetheart my Draherin-o-Machree.
He went to the wars when proud England united with France,
His regiment was first in the red battle charge to advance.
But when night drew its veil o'er the gory and life-wasting fray,
Pale, bleeding and cold lay my Draherin-o-Machree.
Now I'm left to weep like the sorrowful bird of the night;
This earth and its pleasures no more shall afford me delight.
The dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me
Since I lost my heart's darling, my Draherin-o-Machree.
HTML line breaks added, and excess HTML deleted. --JoeClone, 24-May-02.