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 hear in thrall;
Nor life I owe, nor liberty,
For Love is Lord of all. 
And often when the beetle horn
Hath lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal unto her shilding 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