The maid of Culmore, song

John Butcher senior, singing in English
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From sweet Londonderry, oh, to fair London town
There is no better harbour anywhere can be found
Where the youngsters each evening are round the seashore
And the joybells are ringing for the maids of Culmore.

The first time I saw my love she passed me by
And the next time I saw her she bade me goodbye
And the third time I saw her she grieved my heart sore
As she sailed down Lough Foyle and away from Culmore.

To the North parts of America I will go my love see
Where I will know no one, oh, nor no one knows me,
And it’s if I don’t find her I’ll return back no more,
Like an exile I will wander from the maid of Culmore.

Spoken: Hear, hear!


The literary media have ignored this locally popular song, and the traffic of itinerant farm workers from Donegal and Derry is enough to explain its transmission to Scotland. Culmore, about two miles from Derry city, stands where the Foyle river widens into Lough Foyle, witnessing the departure of the tender with passengers for the ocean liner that used to pick them up off Moville.