The Mountains of Mourne

by **Madra Rua** Fri Aug 13, 2010 1:50 pm

Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight,
With people all working by day and by night.
Sure 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 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 know how the fine ladies in London were dressed,
Well if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball,
They don't wear no top to their dresses at all,
Oh I've seen them meself and you could not in truth,
Say that if they were bound for a ball or a bath.
Don't be starting such fashions, now, Mary mo chroi,
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I've seen England's king from the top of a bus
And I've never known him, but he means to know us.
And tho' by the Saxon we once were oppressed,
Still 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 heretofore
When we've 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'Loughlin, of course,
Well, now he is here at the head of the force.
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand,
And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand.
And there we stood talkin' of days that are gone,
While the whole population of London looked on.
But for all these great powers he's wishful like me,
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.

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

These lovely comedic verses were written in 1896 by (William) Percy French.

Born near Elphin, Co. Roscommon, Percy graduated from Trinity College with a degree in civil engineering, and worked for seven years as Co. Cavan’s “Inspector of the Drains”.

Throughout his college career, and while he worked afterwards, he wrote many songs and performed them. He was also an excellent banjo player.

In 1887, Cavan’s Board of Works reduced staff, and he was let go. Unemployed, Percy toured Ireland by bicycle, performing a one man show, and painting landscapes under the name William French.

"Where Wind Meets Water" 1897

In his day, Percy was considered one of Ireland’s foremost songwriters and entertainers. He and his stage partner, Dr. Houston Collisson, collaborated on many successful songs and music hall operas. It’s said that lyrics to “The Mountains of Mourne” were written at one sitting, on the back of a postcard that French sent to Collisson.