It chanced to be our washing-day, And all our things were drying: The storm came roaring through the lines, And sent them all a-flying; I saw the shirts and petticoats Go riding off like witches; I lost, ah! bitterly I wept,— I lost my Sunday breeches!
I saw them straddling through the air, Alas! too late to win them; I saw them chase the clouds as if The Devil had been in them. 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. O. W. Holmes
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. One word more—for signal token, Whistle up the marchin’ tune, With your pike upon your shoulder By the risin’ of the moon.”
Out from many a mud-wall cabin, Eyes were watching through that night: Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light. Murmurs passed along the valley, Like the banshee’s lonely croon, And a thousand blades were flashing, At the risin’ of the moon.
There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen, Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green. “Death to every foe and traitor! Forward, strike the marchin’ tune, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom! ’Tis the risin’ of the moon.”