Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And it softly pours from behind the bier,
Its note of death on Sir Turlough's ear,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The keen is loud, but that voice is low,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And it sings its song of sorrow slow,
And names young Turlough's name with woe,,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
Now the grave is closed, and the mass is said,