The leech has fail'd, and the hoary priest,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
With pious shrift his soul releas'd,
And the smoke is high of his funeral feast.
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The Shanachies now are assembled all,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And the songs of praise, in Sir Turlough's hall,
To the sorrowing harp's dark music fall,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.