|
Biography
Songs
Gigs
Book
Me!
Home
|
There's a spot in old Tyrconnell
There's a wee house in that glen
Where there dwelt an Irish colleen
Who charmed the hearts of men
She was winsome, hale and hearty
Fair and graceful as the dawn
Neighbours loved the widow's daughter
Happy smiling Noreen Bawn
Then one day there came a letter
With her passage paid to go
To the place where the Missouri
And the Mississippi flow
So she said goodbye top Erin
And next morning at the dawn
That old mother broken hearted
Bid farewell to Noreen Bawn
Weary years that mother waited
Till one evening at her door
Stood a gorgeous looking lady
Awful grand the clothes she wore
Whispering, "Mother don't you know me?
Now I've only got a cold"
Yet those purple spots upon her cheeks
The tragic story told
There's a churchyard in Tyrconnell
Where the blossoms sadly wave
There's a sorrow stricken mother
Weeping o'er that lonely grave
"Poor Noreen" she is calling
"Tis I'm lonesome since you're gone
Twas the shame of emigration
Laid you low my Noreen Bawn"
Noreen Bawn
Slightly different!
There's a glen in old Tirconnell
There's a cottage in the glen
Where once dwelt as fair a maiden
As e'er inspired a poet's pen
She was happy, hale and hearty
Shy and graceful as the fawn
And the neighbours loved the widow's
Winsome daughter Noreen Bawn
But a letter came one morning
With her passage paid to go
To the land where the Missouri
And the Mississippi flow.
Soon she had got all things ready
And one morning at the dawn
The poor widow broken hearted
Parted with her storeen bawn
Weary years the widow waited
Till one evening at her door
Slowly walked a slender female
Costly were the robes she wore
Long and sadly gazed the widow
On the shrunken features wan
"Oh, my mother don't you know me?"
Feebly spoke poor Noreen Bawn
She said "Mother, don't be grieving
I have only caught a cold"
But two scarlet spots appearing
On her cheeks their story told
Slowly passed the weary winter
Till the daisies decked the lawn
Still the tide of life was ebbing
From declining Noreen Bawn
There's a graveyard in Tirconnell
Where the wild flowers gently wave
There's a grey haired woman weeping
Lowly kneeling on a grave
"O! mo storeen" she is saying
"I am lonely since you've gone
'Twas the curse of emigration
Left you here, my Noreen Bawn
Now dear youths and tender maidens
Ponder well before you go
From your humble homes in Erin
What's beyond you little know
What is gold and where's the pleasure
When your health and strength are gone
Whe you think of emigrating
Think of poor young Noreen Bawn
|