John Wall Callcott - In the lonely vale - текст песни (слова)

In the lonely vale of streams, abides the narrow Soul. 
 Years roll on, 
 Seasons return, but he is still unknown. 
 In a blast comes cloudy 
 Death, and lays his gray head low. 
 His Ghost is folded in the vapor of the fenny field;
 Its course is never on hills, nor mossy vales of wind.