The blackbird lilts, the robin chirps, the linnet wearies never,
They pipe to dancing feet of Sidhe and thus shall pipe forever.
In Tir-na’n-Og,
In Tir-na’n-Og,
All in a drift of apple blooms my true love there is roaming,
He will not come although I pray from dawning until gloaming.
In Tir-na’n-Og,
In Tir-na’n-Og,
The Sidhe desired my Heart’s Delight, they lured him from my keeping,
He stepped within a fairy ring while all the world was sleeping.