O, Lough Neagh,

mirror of the faëry land,

Thy waters gleam, a silvered dream untold,

Where shadows dance and elfin spirits stand,

In realms of magic, mystic and old.

Thy bosom smooth, a sheet of polished glass,

Reflects the heavens, clouds of pearl and gray;

Or when the sun, a golden orb, doth pass,

Thy surface glows with warm, ambrosial ray.

Around thee hills in emerald mantle clad,

And woods that murmur secrets to the breeze;

While through thy depths, a silent world is had,

Where scaly creatures glide through watery frieze.

O, Lough Neagh, haunt of melancholy dream,

Thy beauty stirs the soul to depths unseen.