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 o'er 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.