The Ash Grove
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 joyfully singing,
I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart;
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah! Then little thought I how soon we should part.
Still grows the bright sunshine oer valley and mountain,
Still warbles the blackbird his 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.