Where Lagan streams sing lullabies, there blows a lilly fair
And twilight gleam is in her eyes, the night is on her hair
And like a love-sick leanan sidhe she has 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 asleep
I stale into her shieling lorn and through her doorway creep
There on the cricket's singing stone she makes the bogwood fire
And sings in sweet and undertone the song of heart's desire