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There s a spot in old Tirconnel, there s a wee house in the glen,
Where dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men,
She was winsome, fair and hearty, shy and graceful as the fawn,
Neighbors loved the widows daughter, happy, laughing Noreen Bawn.
Then one day there came a letter, with her passage paid to go,
To the land where the Missouri and the Mississippi flowed,
So she said good-bye to Erin, and next morning at the dawn,
A poor broken hearted mother bid farewell to Noreen Bawn.
Many years that Mother waited, till one morning at the door,
Stood a gorgeous looking lady, all grand the clothes she wore,
Saying Mother don t you know me, sure I ve only got a cold,
But the purple spots upon her cheeks, the tragic story told.
There s a graveyard in Tirconnel, where the blossoms sadly wave,
There s a broken hearted Mother, knelling on a lonely grave,
Saying my Noreen you are calling, its long years since you ve
gone,
It was the curse of immigration, that laid you low my Noreen Bawn.
