The Bodleian collection contains 11 editions of this song; I transcribed this one, because its typography seems a bit older than the others: 2806 c.17(27).

BELFAST MOUNTAINS

It was on Belfast Mountains I heard a maid complain,
Making sad lamentation down by a purling stream.
She said: I am confined all in the bands of love,
And by a false pretender that does inconstant prove.

My dear, I am sorry for it, that you for me should grieve,
For I am engaged already, and cannot you relieve.
If it be so, dear Johnny, for ever I am undone.
Quite void of shame and scandal, distracted I shall run.

O Johnny, my dear jewel, don't treat me with disdain,
Nor leave me here behind you in sorrow to complain.
Her arms she clasp'd around me, like violets round the vine.
My bonny Irish laddie has stole this heart of mine.

I would give all the diamonds that on the rocks do grow
If my pretty Irish laddie his love to me would show.
Wringing her hands and crying, O Johnny dear, farewell,
And to yon Belfast Mountains my sorrows I will tell.

'Tis not yon Belfast Mountains can give to me relief,
Nor is it in their power to ease me of my grief.
Had they but a tongue to prattle, or tell me a love tale,
To my bonny Irish laddie my mind I would reveal.