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Michael Bracken

The Mountains of Cooley.

Oh I'm thinking tonight of the friends that I knew
And that old boreen, where the wild roses grew
And the sweetheart I left, back in dear old Greenore
Where the Mountains of Cooley sweep down to the shore

And 'tis well I remember my old Whitestown strand
Where in years long ago, we built castles of sand
'Til the mists over Finn, of the boats sailing in
And the Mountains of Cooley grew dark and grew dim

Oh I'm thinking tonight of that old Sheeling Hill
Theres no turn now at all, in the creaking old mill
And the dear ones I knew, I will see them no more
Where the Mountains of Cooley sweep down to the shore

And 'tis well I remember my old Whitestown strand
Where my love and I strayed as we walked hand in hand
'Til the mists over Finn, of the boats sailing in
And the Mountains of Cooley grew dark and grew dim

Written by Eilish Boland


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