The hillside green with bracken 
And the red plough land,
The brownish hurrying rivers 
Where the willows stand,
The thicket and the meadows, 
And the strong oak trees,
O, tell me, traveller, have yer 
Seen the likes o' these?

The mists along the common 
At the close of day,
They're lovely when the twilight 
Makes the vale look grey,
The lanes be long and lonely, 
But they all lead home;
I be thinkin' lads are foolish 
When they wants to roam!