Idioma Origen:
Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
There blow a lily fair
The twilight gleam is in her eye
The night is no her hair
And like a love-sick lenanshee
She hath my heart in thrall
Nor life I owe, nor liberty
for love is lord of all
and often when the beetles horn
Hath lulled the eve to sleep
I steal unto here shielding lorn
And thro´ the dooring peep
There on the cricket´s singing stone
She makes the bog wood fire
And hums in sad sweet undertone
The song of heart´s desire
Idioma Destino:
Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
There blow a lily fair
The twilight gleam is in her eye
The night is no her hair
And like a love-sick lenanshee
She hath my heart in thrall
Nor life I owe, nor liberty
for love is lord of all
and often when the beetles horn
Hath lulled the eve to sleep
I steal unto here shielding lorn
And thro´ the dooring peep
There on the cricket´s singing stone
She makes the bog wood fire
And hums in sad sweet undertone
The song of heart´s desire