The ash grove how graceful, how plainly ’tis speaking
The harp which through it playing has language for me.
Whenever the light through its branches is breaking,
A host of kind faces is gazing on me.
The friends of my childhood again are before me
Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam.
With soft whispers laden its leaves rustle o’er me
The ash grove, the ash grove again is my home.
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;
‘T was there, while the blackbird was joyfully 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 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, oh, tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
“She sleeps, ‘neath the green turf down by the ash grove.”