This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
How sweet this lone vale, and how sacred to feeling
Yon nightingale's notes in sweet melody melt;
Oblivion of woe o'er the mind gently stealing,
A pause from keen anguish a moment is felt.
The moon's yellow light o'er the still lake is sleeping,
Ah! near the sad spot Mary sleeps in her tomb,
Again the heart swells, the eye flows with weeping,
And the sweets of the vale are o'ershadow'd with gloom.
How sweet this lone vale, all the beauties of nature,
In varied features are here to be seen,
The lowly spread bush, and oaks' tow'ring stature,
Is mantled in foliage of gay lovely green.
Ah! here is the spot, O how sad recollection,
It is the retreat of my Mary no more,
How kind, how sincere was this dear maid's affection,
Till memory cease, I the loss must deplore.
How sweet this lone vale to a heart full of sorrow,
The wail of distress I unheeded can pour,
My bosom o'ercharg'd may be lighter to-morrow,
By shedding a flood in yon thick-twisted bower.
O Mary! in silence thou calmly reposes,
The bustle of life gives no trouble to thee,
Bemoaning my Mary, life only discloses
A wilderness vacant of pleasure to me.