Where Lagan streams sing lullabies

There blows a lily fair

The twilight gleam is in her eye

The night is on her hair

And, like a love sick leannÃÆ'¡n sÃÆ'­,

She hath my heart in thrall

No life have I, no liberty,

For love is lord of all



And often when the beetle's horn 

Has lulled the eve to sleep,

I steal into her shieling lorn,

And through the doorway creep,

There on the crickets' singing-stone

She makes the bogwood fire,

And sings in sweet and undertone, 

The song of heart's desire