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The lambs they skip with pleasure,
And the meadows are so green
One of the finest mountains
That ever eyes have seen.
There's fine hunting, fine fishing,
And fine fowling also
On the top of yonder mountain
Where the finest flowers grow.

On the top of yonder mountain
There my true love's castle stands
It is deck-ed up with ivy
From the top down to the strands.
There's fine arches, fine porches,
And there diamond stones so bright,
It's a pilot for the sailors
On a dark and stormy night.

At the bottom of the mountain
There's a river runs so clear,
And a ship from the West Indies
Once lay at anchor there;
With a red flag a-flying
And the beating of a drum
Sweet instruments of music,
And the firing of a gun

* * * * * *

If little Mary had proved faithful
She might have been my bride,
But her mind it was more fickle
Than the rain upon the tide,
Like a ship upon the ocean
That is tossed to and fro,
May the angels now direct her
Wherever she may go!

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Source: Lucy Broadwood and J A Fuller Maitland. 1893, English County Songs, Leadenhall Press, London

From Sussex.

Lucy Broadwood wrote:

This fragment is either the beginning and end of one ballad, or the first three verses of one tacked on to the ending of another. The name of the song is that given to it by the choirman who sang it to Mr Sumner, the the connection between Emma;s faith and Mary's fickleness is not apparant.

Roud: 18820 (Search Roud index at VWML) Take Six

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