Across the hills

Across the hills of the evening

my true love passed away.

The sun went down through the mists on the hills

and the clouds were cold and gray.

And the nightingale calls through the gloom

and the thrush calls all the day,

but my heart, though he should ne'er return,

will call for its love for aye.

Across the hills of the morning

my love returned to me.

The sun arose through the mist of the hills

and sailed in golden sea.

And the nightingale sings to the stars

and the thrush makes glad the day,

for my love shall pass away no more,

and my heart is at peace for aye.