There’s a sweet little valley, with rivers 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.”
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-wreaths evanished,