Where Lagan streams sing lullabies, there blows a lily fair.
When twilight gleam is in her eye, the night is on her hair.
And like a lovesick lenashee, she hath my heart in thrall.
No life have I, no liberty, with love is Lord of all.

And sometimes when the beetles horn has lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal onto her sheiling lorn and through her doorway creep.
There on the cricket's singing stone, she stares the bogwood fire
And hums in sad sweet undertones the song of hearts desire.

Her welcome, like her love for me, is from her heart within
Her warm kiss is felicity that knows no taint of sin

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