#01270
The Mountains Of Mourne (MacEdward Leach) video
#773: YouTube video by threelegsoman
©2009 ~ Used with permission ~

midi1   alt: midi2

Oh, Mary, this London is a wonderful sight,
With the people all working by day and by night;
They don't sow potatoes nor barley nor wheat,
But there's gangs of them diggin' for gold in the streets.
At least when I asked them that's what I was told,
So I just took a hand in the diggin' for gold;
But for all that I found there I might as well be,
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I believe that when writing a wish you expressed,
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed;
Well, if you believe me, when asked to a hall,
Faith, they don't wear a top to their dresses at all.
I've seen them meself and you could not, in truth,
Say if they were bound for a ball or a bath;
Don't be starting them fashions now, Mary McCree,
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I've seen England's king from the top of a bus,
I never knew him, though he means to know us;
And though by the Saxon we once were oppressed,
Yet I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest.
And now that he's visited Erin's green shore,
We'll be much better friends than we've been here before;
When we got all we want we're as quiet as can be,
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

You remember young Peter O'Laughlin, of course,
WeIl, now he is here at the head of the Force;
I met him today, he was crossing the strand,
And he stopped the whole street with one wave of his hand.
And there we stood talking of days that are gone,
Whilst the whole population of London looked on;
But for all these great powers his wish is to be,
Where the mountains of Mourne swept down to the sea.

There's beautiful girls here, Oh, never mind,
With beautiful hips nature never designed;
Their faces all covered with powder and cream,
But O'Laughlin remarked with regard to the same,
That if at those roses you bent there to sip,
The colours might all come away on your lip;
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me,
Where the mountains of Mourne swept down to the sea.

####.... Variant of a song written in 1896 by Percy French [1854-1920] of Cloonyquin, County Roscommon, Ireland, to the tune of Thomas Moore's Bendemeer's Stream ....####
Sung by Monica Rossiter [1913-2004] of Cape Broyle, NL, and published in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).

The video above features an excellent guitar performance of a variant by Tony Archibald from Port St Mary on the Isle of Man.

Note: The Mountains of Mourne are in County Down, Northern Ireland.



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