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 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.