The moon was bright that frosty night

he ghosted down the road;

her candle light came into sight,

its flicker barely showed.

 

His conscience itched but still he pitched

a pebble at the pane;

the curtain twitched, he was bewitched

to see her once again.

 

“Come down below and we will go,”

he whispered ‘cross the sill,

“For you must know I love you so,

and that I always will.”

 

Was it a bird she thought she heard,

that rattled at the glass,

a whispered word that dreams bestirred

like breezes through the grass.

 

She blindly stared in bleak despair,

her grief knew no respite;

she’d almost swear that he was there,

or was it but a sprite?

 

Come now mo chroí, we’ll soon be free,

you’ll be my lady fair,

and you will see, I guarantee,

how much I really care.

 

With heartfelt plea she cursed the sea

‘neath which her love had drowned,

and wept that he whose bride she’d be

lay cold beneath the ground.