The Vale of Avoca

Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

THERE is not in this wide world a valley so sweet

As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;

O, the last ray of feeling and 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;

’T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill,—

O, 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.