Another version.

NOREEN BAWN

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

Regards Mick Bracken