"I pledge that love o'er my buried bride! [Illustration: 0201] Oh! come, and in Turlough's hall abide," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. Again the funeral voice came o'er Killeevy, O Killeevy! The passing breeze, as it wailed before, And streams of mournful music bore, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "If I to thy youthful heart am dear, Killeevy, O Killeevy! One month from hence thou wilt meet me here Where lay thy bridal, Eva's bier," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. He pressed her lips as the words were spoken; Killeevy, O Killeevy! And his _banshee's_ wail--now far and broken-- Murmur'd "Death," as he gave the token, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Adieu! adieu!" said this lady bright, Killeevy, O Killeevy! And she slowly passed like a thing of light, Or a morning cloud, from Sir Turlough's sight, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. Now Sir Turlough has death in every vein, Killeevy, O Killeevy! And there's fear and grief o'er his wide domain, And gold for those who will calm his brain, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Come, haste thee, leech, right swiftly ride, Killeevy, O Killeevy! Sir Turlough the brave, Green Truagha's pride, Has pledged his love to the churchyard bride," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. The leech groaned loud, "Come, tell me this, Killeevy, O Killeevy! By all thy hopes of weal and bliss, Has Sir Turlough given the fatal kiss?" By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "The banshee's cry is loud and long, Killeevy, O Killeevy! At eve she weeps her funeral song, And it floats on the twilight breeze along, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Then the fatal kiss is given;--the last, Killeevy, O Killeevy! Of Turlough's race and name is past, His doom is seal'd, his die is cast," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Leech, say not that thy skill is vain, Killeevy, O Killeevy! Oh, calm the power of his frenzied brain, And half his lands thou shalt retain," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. 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. And there is trophy, banner, and plume, Killeevy, O Killeevy! And the pomp of death, with its darkest gloom, O'ershadows the Irish chieftain's tomb, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. The month is clos'd, and Green Truagha's pride, Killeevy, O Killeevy! Is married to death--and, side by side, He slumbers now with his churchyard bride,