Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
There blows a lily fair.
The twilight gleaming in her eye,
The night is on her hair.
And like a lovesick lenanshee
She hath my heart in thrall.
No life have I, no liberty,
For love is Lord of all.

And often when the beetles horn
Has lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal unto her sheiling lorn
And through the dooring peep.
There on the cricket's singing stone,
She spares the bogwood fire
And hums in sad, sweet undertone,
The song of heart's desire.

Northern Donegal, Ireland, arr. Paul Drayton