Balladmonger
  • Home
  • Blog
  • The Crafted Word
  • PoemMiner
  • JohnFitz.com
  • Gallows Pole
  • Barbara Allen
  • Braes of Yarrow
  • Edward, Edward
  • Tam Lin
  • Lord Randall
  • The Great Silkie
  • Little Musgrave
  • Edward
  • The Golden Vanity
  • The House Carpenter
  • The Highwayman
  • The Mountains of Mourne
  • Green Fields of France
  • Christmas in the Trenches
  • The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
  • The Lakes of Ponchertrain
  • The Witch of the Westmoreland
  • Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
  • Kilkelly
  • There Were Roses
  • The Town I Loved So Well
  • Sammy's Bar

The Mountains of Mourne
~Author


Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight
With people here 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 street
At least when I asked 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
In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies of London were dressed
But if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no tops to their dresses at all
Oh, I've seen them myself and you could not in truth
Tell if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don't be startin' them fashions now, Mary McRee,
In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

There's beautiful girls here, oh, never you mind
Beautiful shapes Nature never designed
Lovely complexions of roses and cream
But let me remark with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me
In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

You remember young Diddy McClaren, of course
But he's over here with the rest of the force
I saw him one day as he stood on the strand
Stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand
As we were talking of days that are gone
The whole town of London stood there to look on
But for all his great powers, he's wishful like me
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

Comment Form is loading comments...
Picture
John Fitz 
balladmonger 
 1. noun: a seller of ballads, esp on broadsheets. 
2.  Noun: a writer of mediocre poetry.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Mauris quis purus nulla. Morbi vitae suscipit ante, non scelerisque purus. Mauris vitae enim tempus, feugiat turpis dapibus, imperdiet augue. Fusce metus risus, laoreet auctor arcu et, feugiat tincidunt tortor. Nulla et est arcu. Nam consectetur dolor sit amet nisi dapibus ornare. Nunc convallis, risus nec interdum tempus, massa metus convallis ligula, vel lobortis nunc magna ut mi. Integer placerat interdum semper.


~John Fitz

History & Synopsis

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin sed euismod lorem. Nam ullamcorper, velit nec fermentum lacinia, turpis erat lacinia ligula, a imperdiet enim nulla vitae turpis. Sed consequat euismod sem, sit amet dignissim dui pellentesque id. Aliquam congue lorem nec nibh aliquam, non hendrerit magna euismod. Fusce id magna dolor. Vestibulum auctor, lacus pulvinar congue sagittis, eros nibh ullamcorper purus, a vestibulum augue orci sed libero. Suspendisse vel placerat ante. Fusce et vulputate libero.



John Fitzsimmons   15 Marlboro St. Maynard Ma, 01754 978-793-1553  fitz@johnfitz.com