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.

'Tis there where the blackbird is cheerfully singing Each warbler enchants with his note from the tree Ah, then little think I of sorrow or sadness The ash grove enchanting, spells beauty for me.

The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking The harp 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, alone is my home.

My laughter is over, my step loses lightness, Old countryside measures fall soft on my ear. Whenever I think on the past and its brightness, The dear ones I mourn for again gather here.

From out of the shadows their loving looks greet me. And wistfully searching the leafy green dome, I find other faces, fond, bending to greet me. The ash grove, the ash grove, alone is my home.