Night and day on me she cries;

Out of my bed she bids me rise,

Says, "haste, and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!

If I were with thee I were blest,

Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,

On fair Kirconnell Lee.

I wish my grave were growing green,

A winding sheet drawn ower my een,

And I in Helen's arms lying,