THE CITY OF DROMORE

Amid the hills of County Down,
On Ireland's northern shore.
There is a place of fair renown
It's the City of Dromore.
T'was there I found an early love
That touched an inmost core,
And caused my rambling steps to rove
Towards the City of Dromore.

`Neath the Viaduct a tryst we made
Beside a bluebell grove.
And on the river's bank we strayed
To tell our tale of love.
By the Avenue past Bishopscourt,
Which once a Palace bore,
We spied the gambolling lambs at sport
Near the City of Dromore.

We saw the wallflower wildly grow
On the crumbling Castle walls.
And watched the lazy Lagan flow
Where the Cathedral's shadow falls
On the old Cross our thoughts did dwell
Rare relic of days of yore.
And we listened to the vesper bell
In the City of Dromore.

We scaled the spiral Norman Mound
By the feet of ages worn
And viewed the landscape all around
To the distant peaks of Mourne.
As on the summit fringe we stood.
We pictured sights before
Of roofs of straw and swellings rude.
In the City of Dromore.

Those far off scenes I oft recall,
Their memory naught can sever.
Mid shade and shine whate'er befall
They haunt my visions ever.
Though circumstance caused us to part
And seas between us roar;
Still I left a portion of my heart
In the City of Dromore.

A Dromore-man (who wishes to remain anonymous) was inspired to compose this poem, having read in our last Journal of the lack of any song about Dromore. Admittedly this could be sung 'if there was an air to it.' Can anyone suggest a pleasing traditional tune that would fit?