O Casend Hill, I be so heavy-hearted.
So lonesome-hke since from my love I parted,
That when the bracken on your sides is springing.
And all the mating thrushes start a-singing,
A kind of fear across my mind comes creeping,
I feel as though I'd surely fall a-weeping !

O Casend Hill, the Spring does not forsake you.
At winter's close the sun comes back to wake you ;
And year by year the same sweet wind it passes.
To stir the lark that's nesting in your grasses ;
But no one comes to ask me how I'm faring,
In all the world there's not a soul that's caring !