Maid of Avinlonge.
Maid, the shades of night are falling,
The blest hour of love draws nigh;
Like the voice of beauty calling,
Floats the bird-song by.
Tho’ our fond hearts fate should sever,
Darkly doomed to pine alone;
Still as first they loved, forever
Should our souls love on.
Though from dreams of hope awaking.