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 cheerfully 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 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."
I'd hoped to find this sung by a Welsh male voice choir, or at least a lugubrious tenor, but the best available is surely the following
though for some reason(s) Eboracus prefers another, similar, rendering
More seriously, for once, this and similar folksongs were what we sang in the twice-weekly music lessons held by Miss Williams in the chapel of Kingsmoor School during the early 1950's. Wonderful tunes, emotive – or jocular – lyrics (Shenandoah, The Camptown Races, Oh My Darling Clementine, On Ilkley Moor Baht 'At, and so many others)