[Verse 1] High upon the green and silent ridge, Where the mist is sleeping on the stone, My small flock is grazing in the light, And I walk the mountain paths alone. Oh, dor, dor, you heavy, sweet regret, Why do you press so hard upon my breast? Like the shadow of the soaring lark, Giving these old weary eyes no rest. [Chorus] Blow, sweet wind from down the hollow vale, Sing, oh little flute of elder wood! Tell the green-leaf forest where I roam, Tell the stream where once my cottage stood. Green grass, green grass, and the rolling cloud, Youth goes by like water through the mill; Only the high crags remember me, Only the wind stays on the lonely hill. [Verse 2] Down below, the village fires wake, Smoke curls blue above the timber roof. I can hear the distant evening bell, And the stamping of a horse's hoof. Will she look out from the wooden gate? Will she watch the winding forest track? I have gone to wander in the world, But my soul is calling to go back. [Chorus] Blow, sweet wind from down the hollow vale, Sing, oh little flute of elder wood! Tell the green-leaf forest where I roam, Tell the stream where once my cottage stood. Green grass, green grass, and the rolling cloud, Youth goes by like water through the mill; Only the high crags remember me, Only the wind stays on the lonely hill. [Outro: fast sarba dance] [Instrumental]
