Greetings and Salutations all,

I see you've all had a nap in the hammocks while I was gone. I don't think REAL MEN are supposed to throw in the towel while there is breath left in their bodies, (for singing, naturally).

My father, whose ancestry was Welsh on his father's side, passed away earlier this year. In his honor, I propose to sing, (a capella, in a sonorous, if occasionally off-key baritone), a robust and manly, and I believe, earlier, English version of "The Ashgrove", whose first verse and repeated chorus are nowhere to be found in the FOUR English versions in the DT. ( Relax, Bruce, I'm not about to sing the one about The Mayor of Bayswater's Daughter.)

Note to Dick: I believe you have the rest of this in various versions, but I couldn't find verse 1 and the chorus, which appear to have been lopped off the beginning for reasons one can scarcely imagine. Also, if anyone would like an accompaniment, there is a richer one than the one currently in the DT at: http://ingeb.org/songs/allhailt.html

THE ASH GROVE /LLWYN ONN


Melody from Wales


All hail to thee, Cambria, the land of my fathers,
I would I could make thee immortal in song.
Thy virtues the muse from thy history gathers,
Thou cradle of genius and home of the strong.

Cho.:The strains of thy minstrels were pure as thy fountains,
They hallowed thy glory, joy, sorrow and strife.
Thy proudhearted warriors have roamed o'er thy mountains,
And fought in thy valleys for freedom and life.

2. Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading I pensively roam;
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash Grove.
The strains ...

3. Twas there while the blackbirds were cheerfully singing,
I first met that dear one, the joy of my heart;
Around, as for gladness, the blue-bells were ringing,
Ah, then little thought I how soon we would part.
The strains ...

4. Still glows the bright sunshine o'er valleys and mountains,
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?
The strains ...

5. 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."
The strains ...

6. The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly tis speaking,
The harp wind 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 strains ...

7. 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 alone is my home.
The strains ...

8. My laughter is over, my step loses lightness,
Old countryside measures steal soft on my ears;
I only remember the past and its brightness,
The dear ones I mourn for again gather here.
The strains ...

9. 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.
The strains ...

BTW, I brought some blackberry wine, some homemade raisin Challah, fresh-churned butter, wildflower honey, apples, pears and sweet cider, as well as plenty of good hot joe to get us back on our feet -- and because for us it's a new year.

L'Chaim!

Akiba