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 in 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