'Tis but in vain, for nothing thrives

'Tis but in vain, for nothing thrives,

Where Dermot has to do,

Ill-fortune seems, howe'er he strives,

His footsteps to pursue!

But one by one, when friends are gone,

Must I forsake him too.

O poverty! Full sure thou art

A foe the most unkind;

And weary, weary is the heart

That feels thee still behind.

But one by one, when friends are gone,

Must I forsake him too.

Next month he sails to find a home

Beyond the western tide;

And heav'n knows where he means to roam,

His houseless head to hide.

But one by one, when friends are gone,

Must I forsake him too.

Oh! Breathe it not thou passing wind,

I tell it thee alone,

My Dermot is not always, kind -

He breaks my heart, I own,

But one by one, when friends are gone,

Must I forsake him too.