Mountains of Mourne

Oh, Mary, this London’s a wonderful sight
Wid the people here workin’ by day and by night
They don’t sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat
But there’s gangs o’ them diggin’ for gold in the street
At least, when I axed them, that’s what I was told
So I just took a hand at this diggin’ for gold
But for all that I’ve found there I might as well be
Where the Mountains o’ 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’ll believe me, when axed to a ball,
They don’t wear a top to their dresses at all!
Faith, I’ve seen them meself, and you could not, in thrath,
Tell if they were bound for a ball or a bath,
Don’t be starting’ them fashions now, Mary Machree
Where the Mountains o’ Mourne sweep down to the sea.

You remember young Peter O’Loughlin, of course—
Well, now he is here at the head o’ the Force.
I met him to-day, I was crossin’ the Strand,
And he stopped the whole street wid wan wave of his hand—
And there we stood talking of days that are gone,
While the whole population of London looked on;
But for all his great powers, he’s wishful like me,
To be back where the Mourne sweeps down to the sea.

There’s beautiful girls here, oh never you mind
Wid beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions of roses and crame,
But O’Loughlin remarked wid regard to the same
‘That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colour might all come away on your lip,’
So I’ll wait for the wild rose that’s waitin’ for me—
Where the Mountains o’ Mourne sweep down to the sea

Additional verse:

I 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
Still, I cheered—God forgive me—I cheered wid the rest.
And now that he’s visited Erin’s green shore
We’ll be much better friends than we’ve been heretofore,
When we’ve got all we want, we’re as quiet as can be,
Where the Mountains o’ Mourne sweep down to the sea.

The “The Mountains o’ Mourne” was written in 1896 by Irish musician William Percy French. It is sung to the same tune used by Irish poet, Thomas Moore, for his song “Bendemeer’s Stream.”