"Sweet Norah, come here, and look into the fire;
   Maybe in its embers good luck we might see;
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining,
   Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!

"Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning;
   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,
   And left the poor dreamer dejected and lone.

Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whisper'd, --
   "'Tis better to strive, than to vainly desire;
And our little hut by the roadside is better
   Than palace, and servants, and coach -- in the fire!"

'Tis years since poor Dermot his fortune was dreaming --
   Since Norah's sweet counsel effected its cure;
For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning,
   And now his snug cottage looks down on the Suir.