Killeevy, O Killeevy!
"Your bride is asleep—she has not awoke,
And the sleep she sleeps will never be broke,"
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
Sir Turlough sank down with a heavy moan,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And his cheek became like the marble stone—
"Oh, the pulse of my heart is for ever gone!"
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The keen is loud, it comes again,