Away, my herd, under the reen oak

Come every shepherd with his love,

And court the western gale;

Come let us seek the oaken grove

In sweet Llangollen vale.

There with a sigh the ardent youth

May urge his tender tale,

The evening hours in joy beguile,

And happy he,

Beneath the tree,

Whose fair rewards him with a smile.

The pipe shall cheer with merry strain,

The harp in concert sound,

And lightly ev'ry maid and swain,

Trip on the grassy ground:

Or, seated in a ring,

we'll pass The cheerful song around.

Come, let us court the western gale,

And joyful haste,

Awhile to taste,

The sweets of lov'd Llangollen vale.