I've come to the cabin he danced his wild jigs in,
As neat a mud palace as ever was seen;
And considering it served to keep poultry and pigs in,
I'm sure it was always most elegant clean.
But now all about it seems lonely and dreary,
All sad and all silent, no piper, no reel;
Not even the sun, through the casement, is cheery,
Since I miss the dear, darling boy, Teddy O'Neale.
I dreamt but last night--oh! bad luck to my dreaming,
I'd die if I thought 'twould come truly to pass,--
But I dreamt, while the tears down my pillow were streaming,
That Teddy was courting another fair lass.
Oh! didn't I wake with a weeping and wailing,--
The grief of that thought was too deep to conceal;
My mother cried--'Norah, child, what is your ailing?'
And all I could utter was--'Teddy O'Neale!'
Shall I ever forget when the big ship was ready,
And the moment was come when my love must depart;
How I sobbed like a spalpeen, 'Good-bye to you, Teddy!'
With drops on my cheek and a stone at my heart.
He says 'tis to better his fortune he's roving,
But what would be gold to the joy I should feel,
If I saw him come back to me, honest and loving,
Still poor, but my own darling, Teddy O'Neale.
Eliza Cook's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Teddy O'Neale by Eliza Cook )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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