By Thomas Moore

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet

Oh, the last rays of feeling andf life must depart

Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene

Her purest of crystal and brightest of green

It was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill

Oh no, it was something more exquisite still.

'T was that friends the beloved of my bosom were near

Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear

And who felt how the best charms of nature improve

When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet Vale of Avoca, how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.