Where Lagan stream sing lullaby, 

There blows a lilly fair. 

When twilight gleam is in her eyes, 

The night is on her hair. 



And like a love-sick leanshee, 

She hath my heart in thrall... 

No life have I, No liberty... 

When love is lord of all. 



And sometimes when the beetles horn, 

Hath lulled the eves to sleigh. 

I steal unto her shielling low, 

And though her dooring peep, 



There on the cricket's singing stone, 

She stirrs the bog-wood fire.. 

And hums in soft 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.