Leaving sweet lovely Derry for fair London town
There is no finer harbor all around can 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 passed me by
And the next time I saw her, she bid me goodbye
But the last time I saw her, it grieved my heart sore
For she sailed down Loch Foyle and away from Culmore

If I had the power: the storms for to rise
I would make the wind blow out and I’d darken the skies
I’d make the wind blow high and the salt seas to roar
‘Til the day that my darling sailed away from Culmore

To the back parts of America, my love, I’ll go seek
For it’s there I know no one and no one knows me
But if I don’t find her, I’ll return home no more
Like a pilgrim I’ll wander for the maid of Culmore