John Clarke-Whitfeld
(1770 - 1836)

Wild is the glen
(S.S.B.)
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Page 1 of 4
Lyrics: Anon

Wild is the glen the dark mountains o'ershadow,
And wild are these pathless woods;
Yet dear is the glen the dark mountains o'ershadow
And dear are these pathless woods.
And even the winds, through these dark woods that rave,
Are more sweet to mine ear than the breath of the grove,
And less lovely to me is the silvery wave
Than the dark, turbid waters that wandering lave
The wild glen where bideth my love.

I know that with thee smiles and pleasures abide,
That the shepherd's song's heard in thy vale;
While, all lonely, I list to the murmuring tide
Or voice of the passing gale.
Yet not in thy world do I sigh e'er to be,
Its joys and its pleasures my heart cannot move;
No scenes of this world, I turn not to thee,
All the charms of creation, the whole earth's to me
The rude glen where bideth my love.