My lover danced upon the hills,
And glades of open rye,
He danced a ceilidh to and fro,
Beneath the sun’s bright eye;
His dance continued throughout the day,
He pranced on in the night,
And when I looked into his eyes,
My heart beat fast in fright.
My lover was all but lost to us,
His heart sang for the dance,
I tried to pull away his hand,
But all he did was dance;
And when he tired of the jig,
He was not more than bones;
I waited long and cried for him,
But he would come home.
My lover did dance high in the hills,
And on glades of open rye,
He did dance a ceilidh to and fro,
But now he’s married to the sky.