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Genre: Folk-Traditional
Credits: Traditional
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Song Information:
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Lyrics:
Oh, I know a wee spot, Â’tis a place of great fame,
And it lies to the North, now IÂ’ll tell you itÂ’s name.
Â’Tis my own little birthplace, and itÂ’s on Irish soil,
Sure, they call it lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
Now I courted a wee girl, her age was nineteen.
She was the fairest colleen that ever youÂ’ve seen,
For her cheeks were like roses and her hair waved in coil,
And she came from lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
By those banks I have roamed, in the dear days gone by,
With my dear girl I strolled, not a tear, not a sigh.
Her fair charms without equal, from the Nore to the Moyle,
Oh, sweet maid from lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
But now cruel misfortune drove me from my home.
Â’Twas my fate in deep sorrow to sail oÂ’er the foam,
And now from dark strangers, in grief I recoil,
While I pine from dear old Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
Oh, mind when I left her, for to cross oÂ’er the sea,
For to try and make a fortune, for Mary and me,
How I cried when I left her, but my tears fell in toil,
Far away from dear old Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
I was young, I was wild, like the rest of the boys.
I had not many sorrows nor yet many joys.
I worked hard for a living, all day I did toil,
Far away from dear old Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
I was fearing that another had a place in her heart,
And that from me my darling forever would part,
That no more she would brighten with her sweet sunny smile,
My dear home in lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
For my true love was buxom, and a fine girl to see.
That she won my affection, all my friends did agree,
And I long for to wed her, on our own native soil,
Though IÂ’m far from dear old Derry on the banks of the Foyle.
But a wee bird came flying from over the sea,
And he brought me a letter from my true love to see,
Saying “Come home, my darling, to your native soil,
And I’ll wed you in lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle.”
Now, when I make a fortune, then to home I will go,
To the dear land of my boyhood, to the sweet girl I know.
I will build her a mansion, and no more need we toil,
Far away from lovely Derry on the banks of the Foyle
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