Leaving sweet lovely Derry, for fair London town,

There is no finer harbour all around to be found,

Where the youngsters each evening, go down to the shore,

And the joy bells are ringing for the Maid of Culmore

The first time I saw her, she pass-ed me by

The next time I saw her, she bade me goodbye,

But the last time I saw her, it grieved my heart sore,

For she sailed down Lough Foyle and away from the shore

If I had the power, the storms for to rise

I would make the wind blow and I would darken the skies

I would make the wind blow and the salt seas to roar

‘Til the day that my darling sailed away from the shore

To the back parts of America, my love I’ll go see,

For it’s there I know no-one and no-one knows me,

And if I don’t find her, I’ll return home no more,

Like a pilgrim I’ll wander, for the Maid of Culmore

It was on the 5th of August 
The weather fine and clear 
Unto Brigg Fair 
I did repair 
For love I was inclined

I woke up with the lark in the morning 
With my heart so full of glee 
On thinking there to meet my dear 
Long time I wished to see 

I looked over my left shoulder 
To see whom I might see 
And there I spied my own true love 
Come tripping down to me

For its meeting is a pleasure 
And parting is a grief 
But an unconstant lover 
Is worse than any thief 

Oh the green leaves they shall wither 
And the branches they shall die 
If ever I prove false to thee 
The girl who loves me