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Down yonder green valley,
where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove.
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wonder,
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.
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah then little thought I how soon we should part.
Still glows the bright sunshine o’er valley and mountain,
Still warbles the blackbird its note from the tree.
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet or 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, oh tell me where is the sweet maiden?
“She sleeps ’neath the green turf down by the Ash Grove.”