There is a lovely mountain called the Mountain of Green,
All things on this mountain are fair to be seen,
At the top of this mountain the ivy doth grow,
At the foot of this mountain, the river doth flow.
On the top of this mountain a castle doth stand,
All decked in green ivy from the top to the strand,
Fine arches, fine porches, and the marble so white,
'Tis a warning to sailors on a dark stormy night.
At the foot of this mountain where the tides ebb and flow,
Ships from the East Indies to Madeira doth go,
With their red flags a-flying and the beating of drums
Sweet instruments of music and the firing of guns.
Come all ye little small streams that murmur and flow,
Come carry me now to my true love you know,
For his eyes are so enticing though his lips they say "No,'
Some good angel direct me to where shall I go.
From Folk Somgs Out of Wisconsin, Peters
Collected from Winifred Bundy, Madison, WI, 1941