Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove.
'Twas there, while the blackbird was cheerfully singing,
I first met that dear one, the joy of my heart;
And near us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.
Still grows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain;
Still warbles the blackbird its note from the tree;
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain;
But what are the beauties of nature to me?
With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden;
All day I go mourning in search of my love.
Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
"She sleeps 'neath the green turf down by the Ash grove."
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