Bellfast mountains (Peterhead)/The Bellfast mountains

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.

IF I had all the diamonds
⁠that grows in yonder hill,
would them to my laddie,
⁠if he would for me feel.
If I had a tongue to prattle,
⁠I would tell my love fine tales,
to the bonny weaver laddie,
⁠my mind I would reveal.

Now ſince my love is from me gone
⁠his face I'll never ſee,
He's left me here behind him
⁠in woe and miſery.
But I hope he will return
⁠ſafe back to me again;
That bonny weaver laddie
⁠that's won this heart of mine.