Maid of Coolmore 
From Northern Ireland, when thousands
left rather than starve because of famine.

From sweet Londonderry to fair London town,
There is no finer harbor, anywhere to be found
Where the children each evening are playing round the shore
And the joy bells are ringing for the Maid of Coolmore

The first time I met her, she passed me by
And the next time that I met her, she bade me good-by
And the last time that I met her, it grieved my heart sore
For she sailed down Lough Foyle and away from Coolmore

If I had the power the storms for to rise
I would blow the winds higher for to darken the skies
I would blow the winds higher, make the salt waves to roar
On the day that my true love sailed away from Coolmore

To the north of America, my love I will seek
Though there I know no one, and no one knows me
And should I not find her, I’ll return home no more
But like a pilgrim I’ll wander for the Maid of Coolmore

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