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When you come down the vale, lass, there's singing in the trees, there's music in the gale, lass, and music in the breeze, there's welcome and there's rapture, o'er moorland and o'er dale, but none so glad as I am, lass, when you come down the vale. Stars up above, find ye my love, tell her the night is fair, peep from the skies into her eyes, leaving my image there.