Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning,
Close by the window young Eileen is Spinning;
Bent o’er the fire her blind grandmother, sitting,
Is crooning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting: –

“Eileen, achara, I hear someone tapping.”
“Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping.”
“Eily, I surely hear somebody sighihg,”
“Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying.”

Merrily, cheerily, noiselessly whirring,
Swings the wheel, spins the wheel, while the foot’s stirring;
Sprightly, and brightly, and airily ringing
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

“What’s that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?”
“Tis the little birds chirpmg the holly bush under.”
“What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on,
And singing all wrong that old song of ‘The Coolun?”
There’s a form at the casement – the form of her true love –
And he whispers, with face bent, “I’m waiting for you, love;
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly,
We’ll rove in the grove while the moon’s shining brightly.”

Merrily, cheerily, noiselessly whirring,
Swings the wheel, spins the wheel, while the foot’s stirring;
Sprightly, and brightly, and airily ringing
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.