Where Lagan stream sings lullaby

There blows a lily fair:

The twilight gleam is in her eye

The night is on her hair

And like a love-sick lenanshee

She hath my heart to thrall:

Nor life I owe nor liberty

For love is lord of all

And often when the beetles horn

Hath lulled the eve to sleep

I steal unto her shieling lorn

And thro' the dooring peep

There on the cricket's singing stone

She spares the bog wood fire

And hums in sad sweet undertone

The song of heart's desire