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The BELLFAST MOUNTAINS.
On the Bellfaſt mountains,
I heard a lovely maid,
Making her lamentation,
down by yon chryſtal ſtream,
She ſays I am confined,
all in the bands of love,
By a briſk young weaver
who does unconſtant prove.
She ſays, my loving Johnny,
dont treat me with diſdain,
To leave me here behind you,
my ſorrows to bewail.
She clapped her hands and cried,
Johnny, love farewell.
And on theſe Bellfaſt mountains
my ſtory I will tell.
It's not your Bellfaſt mountain's
can give me any relief,
Nor is it in their power
to eaſe me of my grief.
She claſped bur arms around me,
like violets round the vine,
That bonny weaver laddie
that stole this heart of mine.
