From "The Irish Sketch Book 1842" by William Makepeace Thackeray. He prefaces the poem with this introduction.   Peg of Limavady Riding from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry City; Weary was his soul, Shivering and sad he Bumped along the road Leads to Limavaddy Mountains stretch'd around, Gloomy was their tinting, And the horse's hoofs Made a dismal clinting; Wind upon the heath Howling was and piping, On the heath and bog, Black with many a snipe in; 'Mid the bogs of black, Silver pools were flashing Crows upon their sides Picking were and splashing. Cockney on the car Closer folds his plaidy, Grumbling at the road Leads to Limavaddy.

"Yonder lay Lough Foyle" Oil painting by Anna Nicholl

Through the crashing woods Autumn brawl'd and bluster'd, Tossing round about Leaves the hue of mustard; Yonder lay Lough Foyle, Which a storm was whipping, Covering with mist Lake, and shores, and shipping. Up and down the hill (Nothing could be bolder) Horse went with a raw, Bleeding on his shoulder. 'Where are horses changed?' Said I to the laddy Driving on the box: 'Sir, at Limavaddy.' Limavaddy inn's But a humble baithouse, Where you may procure Whisky and potatoes; Landlord at the door Gives a smiling welcome To the shivering wights Who to his hotel come. Landlady within Sits and knits a stocking With a wary foot Baby's cradle rocking. To the chimney nook, Having found admittance, There I watch a pup playing with two kittens (Playing round the fire, Which of blazing turf is, Roaring to the pot Which bubbles with the murphies); And the cradled babe Fond the mother nursed it! Singing it a song As she twists the worsted! Up and down the stair Two more young ones patter (Twins were never seen Dirtier nor fatter); Both have mottled legs Both have snubby noses, Both have - here the Host Kindly interposes; 'Sure you must be froze With the sleet and hail, sir, So will you have some punch, Or will you have some ale, sir?' Presently a maid Enters with the liquor (Half a pint of ale Frothing in a beaker). Gods! I didn't know What a beating heart meant, Hebe's self I thought Enter'd the apartment. As she came she smiled, And the smile bewitching, On my word and honour, Lighted all the kitchen! With a curtsy neat Greeting the new comer, Lovely, smiling Peg Offers me the rummer; But my trembling hand Up the beaker tilted, And the glass of ale Every drop I spilt it: Spilt it every drop (Dames, who read my volumes Pardon such a word) On my whatd'ycall'ems! Witnessing the sight Of that dire disaster; Out began to laugh Missis, maid, and master; Such a merry peal, 'Specially Miss Peg's was (As the glass of ale Trickling down my legs was), That the joyful sound Of that ringing laughter Echoed in my ears Many a long day after. Such a silver peal! In the meadows listening, You who've heard the bells Ringing to a christening; You who ever heard Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel Singing 'Giovinetti,' Fancy Peggy's laugh, Sweet, and clear, and cheerful At my pantaloons With half a pint of beer full! When the laugh was done, Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy; Now she looks to see If the kettle keep hot, Now she rubs the spoons Now she cleans the teapot; Now she sets the cups Trimly and secure, Now she scours a pot And so it was I drew her. Thus it was I drew her Scouring of a kettle¹ (Faith! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal!). Ah! but 'tis in vain That I try to sketch it; The pot perhaps is like, But Peggy's face is wretched. No: the best of lead, And of Indian-rubber, Never could depict That sweet kettle-scrubber!

See her as she moves! Scarce the ground she touches, Airy as a fay, Graceful as a duchess; Bare her rounded arm, Bare her little leg is, Vestris never show'd Ankles like to Peggy's: Braided is her hair, Soft her look and modest, Slim her little waist Comfortably bodiced. This I do declare Happy is the laddy Who the heart can share Of Peg of Limavaddy; Married if she were, Blest would be the daddy Of the children fair Of Peg of Limavaddy; Beauty is not rare In the land of Paddy, Fair beyond compare Is Peg of Limavaddy. Citizen or squire, Tory, Whig, or Radi- cal would all desire Peg of Limavaddy. Had I Homer's fire Or that of Sergeant Taddy, Meetly I'd admire Peg of Limavaddy. And till I expire, Or till I grow mad, I Will sing unto my lyre Peg of Limavaddy! In case you've missed the link in the poem, here is a link to an old photograph of Peg's home, kindly donated by Eileen Gough.

From Archibald Mc'Sparrans book: "Donnell and the Norman De Borgos"   Finvola, the Gem of the Roe In the lands of O'Cahan, where bleak mountains rise, O'er whose brown ridgy tops now the dusky cloud flies, Deep sunk in a valley a wild flower did grow, And her name was Finvola, the gem of the Roe, And her name was Finvola, the gem of the Roe. From the Isles of AEbudae, appeared to our view, A youth clad in tartan,'tis strange as 'tis true, With a star on his breast, and unstrung was his bow, and he sigh'd for Finvola, the gem of the Roe, And he sigh'd for Finvola, the gem of the Roe. No more up the streamlet her maidens shall hie, For wan the cold cheek, and bedim'd the blue eye, In silent affliction our sorrow shall flow, Since gone is Finvola, the gem of the Roe, Since gone is Finvola, the gem of the Roe. The text to "The Londonderry Air" by Frederic Weatherly   Danny Boy Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side. The summer's gone, and all the roses falling, 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide. But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow - 'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow, Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny Boy, I love you so. And when ye come, and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying, And kneel and say an 'Ave' there for me. And I shall hear though soft you tread above me, and all my grave will warm, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me. Until recently a different version was popular locally:   In Derry Vale In Derry Vale beside the singing river, Where oft' I played - ah many years ago! And culled at morn the golden daffodils, That came with spring to set the world aglow. Oh Derry Vale my thoughts are ever turning, To your broad stream and fairy cirled lea, For your green hills my exiled heart is yearning, So far away across the sea. In Derry Vale amid the Foyle's dark waters, The salmon leap above the surging weir; The seabirds call - I still can hear them calling, In night's long dreams of those so dear. Oh tarrying years, fly faster ever faster, I long to see the Vale beloved so well, I long to know that I am not forgotten, And there at home in peace to dwell. I don't know the author of the following poem.   Bineveneagh In silent majesty thy towering form Unchallenged monarch of the realms below, Uplifts its riven precipice through storm, Through morning mist, clear noon and sunset glow. Thrones and dominions rise and pass away, To time alone thou dost thy tribute pay.

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