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.