| |
| WHERE Foyle his swelling waters | |
| Rolls northward to the main, | |
| Here, Queen of Erin’s daughters, | |
| Fair Derry fixed her reign: | |
| A holy temple crowned her, | 5 |
| And commerce graced her street, | |
| A rampart wall was round her, | |
| The river at her feet; | |
| And here she sate alone, boys, | |
| And, looking from the hill, | 10 |
| Vowed the maiden on her throne, boys, | |
| Would be a maiden still. | |
| |
| From Antrim crossing over, | |
| In famous eighty-eight, | |
| A plumed and belted lover | 15 |
| Came to the Ferry Gate: | |
| She summoned to defend her | |
| Our sires, a beardless race, | |
| They shouted “No surrender!” | |
| And slammed it in his face. | 20 |
| Then in a quiet tone, boys, | |
| They told him ’t was their will | |
| That the maiden on her throne, boys, | |
| Should be a maiden still. | |
| |
| Next, crushing all before him, | 25 |
| A kingly wooer came | |
| (The royal banner o’er him | |
| Blushed crimson deep for shame); | |
| He showed the Pope’s commission, | |
| Nor dreamed to be refused: | 30 |
| She pitied his condition, | |
| But begged to stand excused. | |
| In short, the fact is known, boys, | |
| She chased him from the hill, | |
| For the maiden on the throne, boys, | 35 |
| Would be a maiden still. | |
| |
| On our brave sires descending, | |
| ’T was then the tempest broke, | |
| Their peaceful dwellings rending, | |
| Mid blood and flame and smoke, | 40 |
| That hallowed graveyard yonder | |
| Swells with the slaughtered dead,— | |
| O brothers! pause and ponder, | |
| It was for us they bled; | |
| And while their gift we own, boys,— | 45 |
| The fane that tops our hill, | |
| O, the maiden on her throne, boys, | |
| Shall be a maiden still. | |
| |
| Nor wily tongue shall move us, | |
| Nor tyrant arm affright, | 50 |
| We ’ll look to One above us | |
| Who ne’er forsook the right; | |
| Who will may crouch and tender | |
| The birthright of the free, | |
| But, brothers, “no surrender,” | 55 |
| No compromise for me! | |
| We want no barrier stone, boys, | |
| No gates to guard the hill, | |
| Yet the maiden on her throne, boys, | |
| Shall be a maiden still. | 60 |
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