"Oh! go not yet—not yet away,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
Let us feel that life is near our clay,"
The long-departed seem to say,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
But the tramp and voices of life are gone,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And beneath each cold forgotten stone,
The mouldering dead sleep all alone,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.